


United We Stand

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [34]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU of Personal Effects, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-09-24 05:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: With their team leader down and their team falling apart at the seams, Team One is left struggling to keep the peace and save lives.  But Team One hasn’t gotten this far by giving up and they don’t plan to start now.  AU of Personal Effects





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for 04x01: Personal Effects. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the thirty-fourth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Divided We Fall".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.
> 
> As a final note, although I've been trying not to use prologues quite as much as I used to, this one was just too long to combine with Chapter One; I felt I'd end up frustrating all of you if I combined a 1.5k long prologue with Chapter One.

_Previously_

“We’ve got somebody else to do your team’s psychological evaluation this year.”

* * * * *

The man who arrived wore an impeccable black suit and tie along with plain black wingtip shoes, and carried two bulky suitcases, one silver, one brown.  He strode into the open briefing room, his stride unhurried and his professional demeanor already in place.

* * * * *

“Who’s Toth?” Sam piped up, though his teammates looked just as confused.

“Military psychologist,” Jules filled in.

“He breaks up teams,” Ed growled.

Greg instantly countered.  “He does not break up teams.”

“Oh, come on,” Ed protested.

“He’s a specialist in team psychology.  We’ve had some tough calls.”

“And you’re on board with this?” Ed asked incredulously.

The moment of silence was telling.  “Not completely,” Greg admitted.  “I’d prefer if it had been someone cleared to know about _all_ of our calls.”

* * * * *

“You almost lost a partner,” Toth observed.  “You almost lost a best friend, too, right?  Let me ask you this: You almost lose your best friend.  It’s three in the afternoon.  How do you spend the rest of your day?”

“I went home.”

_“Today,” Dominic whispered, “your friend cheats the Reaper, but tomorrow, my son does not.”_

Without a flicker of _real_ concern, Toth asked, “You patch things up with your father?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he won’t,” Spike replied flatly.

“Why?”

“He’s dying,” Spike reported dully.

“Spike…” the Boss whispered, sympathy aching.

“No,” Spike managed, shaking his head and still staring down.  “He won’t patch things up until I quit SRU.”

* * * * *

Flatly, grimly, Toth snapped, “You and Jules Callaghan were involved.”

* * * * *

 “Did you know the risk to the team?” Toth demanded of Jules.

“Yes, I knew the risk to the team,” Jules admitted.  “That’s why I accepted it when Sarge demanded that we break up or transfer.  I worked my tail off to earn a spot on Team One and I wasn’t about to endanger that.”

* * * * *

Toth’s response was predictable – and right.  “There’s a reason that’s against SRU policy,” he said sternly.  “It puts your teammates in danger.”

“But it makes no difference,” Sam retorted, “because it’s over.”

The polygraph reacted to that at once.

* * * * *

Toth continued his questioning.  “When was the last time you had a full medical?”

Defensiveness surged up and the confidence vanished.  “My last medical was fine.”

* * * * *

“How do you explain your trouble with concentration?  Your unsteady hands, your slower cognitive response?”

Wordy pleaded, “This job is the only thing I know how to do.”

Toth was implacable.  “Raise your arms.”

Greg watched as Wordy raised his arms and his right hand trembled.

* * * * *

Toth, believing he’d rattled Ed sufficiently, asked, “When things get tough at work, where do you turn?”

“I count on my team.”

“Where do you turn if it’s something you can’t share with the team?”

 “My family.”

“So how are you coping with them gone?”

“Greg…how did he know that Sophie left me?  How’d he know about that?”

“Eddie, it was in my notes,” Greg murmured regretfully, flicking a look in Toth’s direction.

“You know what?” Ed decided, pulling out his badge and tossing it on the table in front of Toth.  His gun sprang to his hand and he unloaded it with quick angry motions.

“Eddie.”

The former team leader didn’t even glance at his ex-boss…ex- _friend_.  “Gentlemen…” he drawled, setting the gun and its magazine down with a firm thud.  “I got a baby I got to meet.”  With that, he strode around the table and out the briefing room door…for the last time.

* * * * *

“Yeah, put her on right now.”

“Okay, Soph, what’s going on?” Ed asked.

“Her heart rate’s low,” Sophie sobbed, “She’s not getting enough oxygen.”

“What do you mean, her heart’s too slow?  Sophie.”

Even as he steered for the exit, the SUV he’d just passed pulled up alongside him, the driver shouting and flipping Ed off.  “No, Soph,” Ed started to say; a sharp honk from the SUV brought his head around and he shouted back, “Come on, buddy.”

The SUV honked again and pulled right in front of Ed; it cut in so close that Ed had to hit the brakes to avoid a collision.

* * * * *

Negotiator and psychologist faced off, each man measuring the other up.  Parker chose to break the stand-off first.  “I’ll admit I needed help this year,” he began, his eyes intense.  “I’ll even admit that, in theory, an objective point of view and fresh eyes on my people was needed.”

“Your instinct is right,” Toth replied.  “There are fault lines running all through this team.”

“I didn’t need you to break them down,” Parker snapped angrily.  “I didn’t need you to throw their worst moments in their faces and break them apart from each other.  And what _you_ call fault lines,” helpless fury flashed, “That’s them being human,” the Sergeant finished, voice firm.

“It’s natural that you’re feeling protective,” Toth opined smoothly.

“Stop!” Parker growled.  “This was never _about_ my team, was it?”  Toth stilled.  “No, whoever called you in wasn’t interested in my team, per se.  Just me.  And the best way to get to _me_ is through my team.”

Grimly, Greg met Toth’s gaze.  “My _team_ doesn’t deserve what you did to them.  My guys chose each other!  They’ve got each other’s back!”

* * * * *

“There’s got to be a good reason to break up a team.”

* * * * *

The light at the bottom of the ramp turned red and Ed reluctantly slowed to a halt.  He glared at the other SUV and willed the light to change.

The light turned green, but the SUV in front of him didn’t budge.  Peering through the SUV’s rear window, Ed saw the driver on his own phone.  Frantic for his wife, Ed laid on his horn and shouted, “Come…come on!”

Inside the other car, the driver frantically begged for lenience from the man on the other end of the phone line.  “I’m telling you that you do not need to do this, all right?  Listen to me: I need a bit more time.”

The light was green and the blasted car _wasn’t moving!_   “Come on!” Ed roared as he pounded on his horn and slipped the Bluetooth off his ear.  “It’s green!”

The other driver rolled down his window and made a sharp, angry gesture; he yelled back, “Go around!”

The frustrated cop put his car in reverse, but the car behind him was too close for him to back up.  Ed groaned; Sophie was counting on him and this _louse_ was in his way!

“Let’s go!  Let’s go!” he yelled, honking once more at the idiot in the gray SUV.  “Come on!”

In the gray SUV, the driver’s pleading turned forceful.  “Please…  Please!”

Frustration crystallized into decision and Ed threw the Flex into park and got out.  The constable advanced on the other SUV and briskly ordered, “All right, back in the car, let’s move the vehicle, please, let’s do it now.”

The other driver closed his door and glared back at Ed, but his attitude was cut off by the police uniform Ed still wore.  “Okay.”

Satisfied, Ed turned to get back in his SUV, but something out of the corner of his eye drew him back.  The driver opened his door and yanked a silver semi-auto out of his car.  Ed’s right hand flew down, only to slap helplessly against his empty holster.  Ed put his hands up and tried to talk the other man down.  “Okay…let’s just slow this down.  Let’s just slow it down.”

* * * * *

Abruptly, his ‘team sense’ came to life, flaring warning.  A voice, one he recognized, cried out in a frantic plea for help.  _“Greg!”_

Then fire erupted from his chest and arm; he bit back a cry of pain and fell forward, slamming down on the cool tile of the station’s floor, just as, kilometers away, Ed Lane collapsed backwards as bullets struck him in the arm and chest.  Seven bullets were pumped into his body before the other man screeched away, leaving the constable bleeding out on the pavement; above him, the light turned red.


	2. I Have a Man Down

For a second, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move; agony radiated from his chest and left arm, forcing tears of pain from his eyes.  His chest was on fire and his arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat in two places, alternating between sending starbursts across his vision and going utterly numb.  It took an act of will to stay conscious as the waves of pain continued and intensified.

“Sir!”  The voice coming from above and to his side was familiar, worried and half-frantic.  He felt her touch his uniform, searching for what was wrong.

All at once, Greg gasped and flexed his hands, awkwardly pushing himself up off the floor.  When his left arm refused to hold his weight, Winnie braced him and let him sling his good arm around her shoulders; the slim dispatcher levered the stocky Sergeant back to his feet.  “Eddie,” Parker whispered, instinctively reaching for his ‘team sense’ before meeting Winnie’s concerned gaze.  “Ed’s in trouble.”

Winnie finished helping her superior regain his balance, frowning in confusion.  Ed wasn’t even in the station so how could Sergeant Parker know he was in trouble?  And why had Parker collapsed like that?  For one horrid moment, she’d thought…

Then her headset came to life with an incoming call and she automatically picked up and asked, “SRU?” even as she moved away from Parker and back towards her desk and computer.

Behind the pair of officers, the door to the briefing room opened and Winnie heard Commander Holleran announce, “We’re ready.”

Winnie rounded her desk and wasn’t surprised that Parker didn’t seem to have even heard the commander; he’d moved right up to the countertop, intense worry in his hazel eyes as he watched her.  The voice in Winnie’s ear broke through her musings and she questioned, “10-33 where?”  One hand slapped down the alarm and Winnie slid into her chair.  No, it wasn’t possible…was it?  Sergeant Parker couldn’t _possibly_ know for sure that a member of his team was in trouble…could he?

“Lakeshore and where?” she demanded, then nodded to herself at the response, repeating it for Sarge’s benefit.  “Fort York Boulevard.”

“Winnie, what’s going on?” Commander Holleran inquired, sounding a bit testy, but not at _her_ , Winnie suspected.

Succinctly, Winnie summed up the situation.  “Officer down, and multiple shots fired.  He’s SRU.”

Sarge turned his head towards the commander and added firmly, “It’s Ed.”  There was not a smidge of doubt in his voice and, again, Winnie wondered how he knew; how could he be so sure?

From the opposite side of the dispatcher desk and just arrived from the locker room, Donna Sabine immediately responded with a brisk, “I’m on it.”  Touching her comm, Donna barked, “Team Three, gear up!  Let’s go, you guys.”

The closest Team Three members hurried to follow their Team Leader’s orders, but Winnie’s attention returned to the drama in front of her desk.  Toth looked as puzzled as Winnie felt, but Commander Holleran looked…resigned?  Did he know _how_ Sarge knew it was Ed?

Then Sarge drew Winnie’s attention with a quick tap on the desk.  “Recall Team One.”

“Slow down a second,” Holleran ordered, stilling Winnie’s reach for her keyboard.

Parker didn’t even look up at his commanding officer.  “Page ‘em 10-33.  Get ‘em back to the station.”

“Your team’s not cleared for duty,” Holleran interjected.

* * * * *

“Then clear ‘em for duty!” Greg roared, his temper right on the edge of snapping.  “I have a man down!”  And when he got his hands on the slimeball who’d done this to his team leader, to his _friend_ …  Greg cut that line of thought, forcing himself to ignore and suppress the animalistic snarl from one corner of his mind and its bloodthirsty screech for _vengeance_.

Commander Holleran’s expression turned wary; Greg couldn’t blame the man.  Holleran was, outside of his teammates, the one person who knew the most about how much Greg had changed over the three years since he’d found out about magic.  “Sergeant Parker…”

Winnie still hadn’t sent the pages; Greg turned towards her with a glare and a single word order.  “Winnie.”

Then, out of the blue, Toth inquired, “Can you stay objective?”

Greg swung back towards the man, surprised.  Given Toth’s stated goal, for him to pass up a _perfect_ opportunity to demand that Team One – and their Sergeant – be more or less permanently stood down seemed rather out of character.

Holleran sounded surprised and skeptical as he asked the doctor, “Are you saying his team is fit for duty?”

“I’m saying this team has a man down,” Toth countered calmly.  Looking Greg in the eye, he demanded again, “Can you stay objective?”

_No._   “I know how to do my job,” Greg returned, keeping his voice level and even.

Apparently, it was enough for Toth, who nodded and turned towards Winnie.  “Winnie, recall Team One.”

Greg heard her keyboard start to click away.  “Thank you.”  He wouldn’t be forced to watch from the sidelines as another team caught his team leader’s shooter; that Toth would, essentially, give him a second chance meant that Greg was determined to show Toth his team’s best side.

“Team Three will ride shotgun,” Holleran put in.

“And I’ll be watching,” Toth added.  “Parker, keep your comm channel open.”

On one hand, Greg wasn’t thrilled at the requirement.  He wouldn’t be able to call in reinforcements from the Auror Division with Toth listening in.  On the other, he didn’t really _want_ to call in the Auror Division either.  This was a techie matter and his team had yet to decide if they wanted to work with the Aurors any longer; he had no right to make that choice _for_ them.

So Greg accepted Toth’s demand without argument.  “Okay, Winnie, get him a headset.”

“Yes, sir,” Winnie agreed.

“Page ‘em.  I want my people.”

“Already on it,” Winnie promised.

Greg strode towards the locker room, intent on everything that needed to happen before his team could join the hunt.  Even so, it was easy for him to overhear Holleran’s murmured comment to Toth.  “I thought you said you wanted to break up this team.”

The Sergeant’s teeth bared for an instant, his hackles rising; his eyes flashed with inhuman fury and indignation.  The effects smoothed away when Toth murmured back, “Let’s see,” but as Greg picked up his pace, he realized his biggest struggle might well be against himself and his Calvin family heritage.

* * * * *

Wordy collapsed on his couch with a grateful sigh, sipping at a fresh glass of water; the headache was finally starting to fade, though he’d think twice before trying _that_ little trick again.  If anything, his stunt had driven home the point that, no matter what, he was never going to be an ‘average’ Squib, much less a full-fledged wizard.  Most days, that didn’t bother him, but today he wondered…if his magic hadn’t been crippled, would he still have a trembling right hand?  He’d never know.

Reluctantly, the constable turned his attention to figuring out how to get himself a full medical without accidently betraying his promise to keep the wizarding world secret.  Hmmm…maybe Sarge would have an idea or two?  Wordy cringed; he shouldn’t have kept his troubles to himself once he’d realized they were affecting his job performance.  It hadn’t been fair to his Sergeant to let him get blindsided by that creep Toth; technically, Sarge was on the hook even though _Wordy_ had been keeping secrets.

Before Wordy could plot any further, his phone buzzed; the brunet snapped the phone up and thumbed the power button to see the incoming message.  Wordy shot to his feet, ignoring the water that spilled out of his glass from the abrupt movement and headed for the kitchen to trade the water for his car keys.

Halfway there, his phone buzzed again.  Wordy paused to check the new message.

WE’LL PICK YOU UP

-LOU

He wanted to argue, but, really, he was still compromised and he knew it.  So Wordy sighed and slowed, though he still swept into his kitchen and set the almost full water glass in the sink.  Shelley started to give him a warning look, but then she got a good look at his face.  “Kevin?”

“10-33 from the station,” Wordy reported.  “Lou and Spike are going to pick me up, Shel.”

“Who is it?” Shelley demanded.

Wordy bit his lip.  “I think it’s Ed,” he admitted.  “He stormed out earlier and you know how he is when he gets really mad about something.”

Shelley’s eyes darkened and she nodded agreement.  “Good luck, Kevin,” she remarked, laying a hand on her husband’s arm.

“Thanks, Shel,” Wordy replied; then he headed for his front porch to watch for Lou’s car.

* * * * *

The three men hurried into the barn, Wordy in the lead despite a resurgence of his headache.  He was profoundly displeased to see Toth sitting behind Winnie’s desk with a headset of his own, but didn’t say anything.  Instead, he demanded, “What’s going on?”

Behind him, Spike inquired, “We’re cleared for duty?”

“For now,” Toth acknowledged in a level tone.

“Officer down?” Wordy questioned.

“It’s Ed,” Winnie called.

Though Wordy had suspected, Spike and Lou apparently hadn’t.  “What?” Lou asked, beating Spike to the punch.

Winnie looked worried about something, but she kept filling them in.  “Sarge is on his way to the hospital.”

As Wordy and his teammates headed for the locker room, Wordy set his mind to figuring out what Winnie had left out…and why she’d darted a look at Toth behind the doctor’s back before filling them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Since Christmas of 2018 falls on a Tuesday, all of you can look forward to both the next chapter of this story _and_ my annual Christmas oneshot.


	3. I Trust You

En route to the hospital, Greg called Roy and rapidly brought the younger Lane up to date on the shooting.  Then he asked Roy to swing by and pick up the kids before coming to the hospital.  Roy agreed with only a touch of reluctance, promising to meet up with Greg as quickly as possible.

Once at the hospital, Greg strode in, his focus split three ways.  One part was on Donna and Team Three, with the objective of getting as much info as he could.  The second part was on Ed and the low-level pain still radiating through the ‘team sense’; Ed’s condition was obscuring all of Greg’s other connections and likely causing the painful ‘feedback’ Greg was experiencing, but the Sergeant was loathe to cut off his private way to keep an eye on his injured man.  The third part of Greg’s focus was on discreetly trying to get his left arm to cooperate.  The pain in his chest had died down, but his arm was still alternating between numbness and fiery agony; almost as if Greg had been shot himself.

“Parker!”

Greg paused, turning on his heel as Roy and Giles hurried in, two teenagers in their wake.  When the four reached the Sergeant, he turned back without a word and started off again, explaining as he moved.  “I just got here, so I don’t know how he is yet.”

Roy, breathing hard, nodded as he fell in at Greg’s left; the other three fell in behind, but kept close.  “What do you know?” Roy questioned, his voice hard.

“Give me a second,” Greg requested before directing his next words to Team Three.  “Donna.”

Donna smoothly picked up the baton, reporting, “Witnesses say that the shooter is white, male, thirties, dark pants, dark jacket.”

“You get an ID on the car?”

“Yeah, we got a plate and an address and we’re headed there now,” Donna confirmed.

“That’s great,” Greg praised before shifting towards Roy.  “Team Three is on-scene and they’ve got an address.”

As he spoke, a nurse intercepted the group and guided them towards a back area of the hospital; she didn’t have to ask who they were there for – the uniform Parker wore made it clear without any further explanation.

“They’ll get this guy?” Roy questioned, his face tight with worry for his older brother.

“With any luck, yes, but Team One is gearing up right now,” Greg replied.  “We might have another problem, though.”

Roy arched a brow.

Greg drew in a breath.  “Ed got a call earlier today; Sophie’s in labor.”

For a moment, Roy was puzzled, then his eyes widened and he darted a look behind him.  “Clark,” he breathed; Greg nodded once.

There was no more time to talk as they arrived at a gurney with a familiar figure lying on top of it.  Ed was still in his SRU shirt, pants, and boots, though his vest and uniform jacket were nowhere to be seen.  Greg grimaced at his team leader’s stillness and the bloody bandages clearly visible on his left arm; his private suspicions were confirmed.  His own left arm was hurting in the exact same places where Eddie had been shot.

The Sergeant leaned over the gurney, meeting his friend’s eyes and quietly asking, “How you doing there, buddy?”

The nearby doctor cut in.  “He’s in shock.”

Ah.  Greg turned fierce topaz-hard eyes on the man.  “Then talk to me, Doc.”

Over the comm, Greg heard Toth’s voice.  “Winnie, boost the volume, please.”

The Sergeant kept his gaze on the doctor as the man explained, “He took seven bullets, most to the chest and abdomen.  They hit his vest.”  Silently, Greg gave thanks that Ed had been too angry earlier to change out of his uniform before leaving, though he suspected Ed’s anger had led to this turn of events.  The doctor concluded, “He has major bruising and has lost a lot of blood.”

Greg let his gaze fall to his subordinate’s visible injuries.  “His arm?”

“Two bullets,” the doctor replied, before indicating the lower arm.  “This is the one I’m worried about.  Ulnar nerve damage.”  He looked towards the nurse and ordered, “Page a surgeon.  We got to get him into an O.R. soon as possible.”

Parker cast a discreet glance in Onasi’s direction, hiking one brow.  The Auror inclined his head, but lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug.  Keeping his expression neutral, Greg asked the doctor, “This surgeon?”

“Doctor Brown,” the man supplied.  “Don’t worry.  He’s the best.”

Mentally, Greg filed that under ‘acceptable backup plan.’  Turning his focus back to Ed, he remarked, “Hear that, buddy?  You’re gonna be okay.”

To Greg’s private relief, Ed’s eyes had regained some alertness.  “Sophie?” he managed.  Through the pain, Greg sensed his team leader’s intense fear for his wife.

The Sergeant snapped around to the nurse, demanding, “His wife.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw Roy jerk to attention.  “I already checked,” the nurse informed them.  “She’s in Maternity, two floors up.”

“She was in labor,” Greg pressed, Ed’s worry hadn’t abated, though he could surely hear the nurse just as well as Greg could.

“She’s had a downturn, but we got a team working on her.”

More dismay from Ed, but not surprise.  No wonder Eddie had gotten himself into trouble.  “What do you mean, ‘downturn’?” Greg coaxed.

“I’m sorry,” the woman apologized, “That’s all I know.  I’m sorry.”

Behind Greg, Ed whispered, “Boss…”

He couldn’t go himself, but he could do the next best thing.  “Roy.”

“On it,” Roy acknowledged, hurrying off without another word.

Greg rested a hand on his team leader’s shoulder.  “Roy’s going to find out what’s going on here, buddy.  He, Giles, and the kids are going to keep you company, all right?”

The Sergeant was grateful when Toth kept his mouth shut; apparently that met with the man’s approval.

Ed’s right hand spasmed as he fought through the pain from his left arm and chest.  “Greg…”

Greg debated his options.  To the nearby doctor, he requested, “Give me a minute, will you?”

“Don’t worry,” the doctor replied, “I’m done.”  Moving away, he instructed the nurse, “Give him ten mils of morphine and get the pre-op started.”

Good, two down and one to go.  Greg called after them, “Just keep me posted, please.”

“Will do,” the nurse agreed.

Before Greg could enact part two of his hasty plan, Ed whispered, “Boss…”

“Hey, you hang tight,” Greg urged.  “You get some rest.  We got a plate.  We’re gonna get this guy.”

But Ed would not be deterred.  “I saw something…” he gasped out.  Greg froze for a split second, then he leaned in close so his team could hear Ed’s report, too.  “Somebody else in the back seat,” Ed managed.  “A woman in a military uniform.”

“Military uniform?” Greg double-checked, earning a nod.  To his teammates, the Sergeant ordered, “Team, call Downsview Base.”

“Got it, Boss,” Jules replied, “Possible hostage.”

Returning his focus to Ed, Greg questioned, “That’s when he shot you?”  Ed nodded again.

Greg stole a quick look around, then straightened and spoke directly to Toth.  “Dr. Toth, I’m going to turn my radio off for five minutes.”

“Sergeant Parker,” Toth protested at once.

“Go ahead,” Commander Holleran cut in.  “Take ten if you need to, Sergeant.”

Mentally, Greg blessed his commander as he switched the radio off and gathered Onasi and his kids closer to Eddie’s gurney with a glance.  One hand stayed on Ed’s shoulder as he spoke.  “Giles, if you can call in Healers for Ed and maybe Sophie?”

“Ed, for sure,” Giles replied.  “I’d have to see what the situation is with Sophie and even then…”

Greg nodded once, understanding.  As with Roy’s late partner, there was only so much the magical world could do once a patient reached a tech-side hospital.  “Now, our other issue is Clark,” Greg remarked, his eyes falling on his paling nephew.  “Giles, if you and Roy could take the lead on that?”

“No,” Lance cut in; Greg jerked back in surprise and felt Ed tense under his hand.  The pale teenager swallowed hard, but his eyes were determined.  “I-I should be the one to explain.”

“Not everything,” Greg cautioned, letting his eyes shift around the hospital.  Parker let go of Ed’s shoulder and leaned closer to his _nipote_.  “You don’t have to do this by yourself, Lance.  It’s not your mess to clean up.”

Lance gulped and went paler, but the determination never faded.  “But it is, a little bit,” he countered.  “I didn’t start all of this, but I could’ve told Clark last week and I didn’t.”

“That was _my_ decision,” Greg refuted, though he knew what his nephew was driving at.

“But you made it _for_ me,” Lance whispered.  “I-I can’t hide forever, Uncle Greg.  And I shouldn’t, either.”

For the space of a minute, Greg focused on his nephew and his nephew alone, gripping both of Lance’s shoulders.  “I’m so proud of you, Lancelot,” he murmured.  “I wish I could be here to help you, but I can’t.  But you know what?”  Lance cocked his head to the side in question.  “Giles is going to back you up in my place, okay?”

Onasi’s expression turned alarmed and he hissed, “You want me to _what_?”

Greg didn’t let go of his nephew as he turned towards Giles.  “You won’t let us down, Giles.”

The brunet paled and Greg saw the other man’s eyes go haunted.

Without a lick of hesitation, Parker said flatly, “ _I_ trust you, Giles, and now _you_ need to trust yourself, okay?  You and Roy, you’re in charge here; I _know_ you can handle it and I _know_ you’ll make the best decisions you can.”

Greg turned back to Ed, meeting his team leader’s eyes.  “We’re on it, buddy.  We’re on it.”  He hesitated.  “Ed, about before, with Toth…”  No, he hadn’t called Toth in, but if not for his team’s direct defiance of Moffet’s plans…if not for _him_ and his kids…then, maybe, the utter disaster that had been evaluation day might not have happened.

Ed’s voice was weak, but direct.  “Don’t worry about it,” he rasped.  “Let’s just get this done.”

The Sergeant could hardly refute Ed’s statement.  “Just what I was thinking,” he confirmed with a shaky smile.  He straightened, turning his radio on.  “Okay, team, Roy and his partner will keep us up to date; I’m heading out.”

Sam’s report flowed in before anyone else could speak.  “Boss, there’s a shooting at Downsview Base.  Two soldiers hit, one female.  She’s missing.  We’re on our way.”

Greg’s eyes hardened as he moved and he didn’t even notice as slightly lengthened canines flashed in a silent snarl.  “Let’s get this maniac off the street.”


	4. Downsview Base Shooting

The group of five Team One members kept pace with the corporal showing them into Downsview Base.  As much as all of them wanted to go straight past investigating and right for the throat of their team leader’s shooter, they knew it was critical to gather as much evidence as possible and figure out who they were dealing with.

Jules was the first to pipe up.  “CO says shots were fired at 16:50 **(1)**.”

“We’ll need visitor and vehicle entry logs,” Wordy informed the corporal, ignoring the fact that both Spike and Lou were hovering about as close to him as they could get away with.

“Corporal, which way?” Spike asked over Wordy’s shoulder.

The corporal pointed to their left and continued to lead the way.  Wordy glanced back as Jules and Sam went straight; they would interview the private who’d been shot and left for dead.

Sam hardly waited for his teammates to vanish before edging closer to Jules and hissing, “Jules, can we talk?”

Jules didn’t even look at him.  “Don’t worry about it, Sam.  I apologize.”

The blond grimaced and tried to cut in.  “No, Jules…”

“I didn’t even think to ask if you were seeing somebody.”

“That was Natalie,” Sam finally managed to blurt out.

And still Jules wouldn’t look at him.  “She seems really nice.”

Exasperated, Sam leaned in closer and emphasized, “My sister.  Natalie?”

Jules’ embarrassment fairly rolled off her as her stride faltered.  “Right.  Natalie.”

Pleased he’d gotten past the first hurdle, Sam explained, “She showed up last night.”  It had been a total surprise to see her; his impression had been that as far as his family was concerned, he was dead to them.  “She’s gonna crash with me for a little while.  Personal reasons.”  The blond opted not to add that he was rather hoping to introduce Natalie to their aunt; as a Squib-born like him, she already knew about the wizarding world.

His train of thought was cut off as Jules opined, “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“What do you mean?” Sam questioned, but he’d have to wait for an answer as Jules’ attention turned to the group of men they’d just reached.

“Private Jordan, Jules Callaghan,” Jules introduced.  “This is Sam Braddock, Strategic Response Unit.”

* * * * *

Spike focused on the computer monitor, letting Lou take over Wordy-watching duty.  Granted, Wordy didn’t look _quite_ as bad as he had earlier, but Spike was in no mood to take chances and Lou felt likewise.  Though Lou hadn’t been there when Wordy went down – lucky him; Toth’s torturous cross-examination had paled in the face of seeing a profusely sweating Wordy’s eyes roll up, right before he went down like a rock.  Next time, Spike was _not_ letting Wordy anywhere _near_ his injuries, no matter how ‘minor’, even if his teammate _deliberately_ caused them.

A familiar car snagged Spike’s eye and he drew attention to himself, calling, “There it is: civilian SUV exiting 16:54.”

Wordy and Lou looked over the tech’s shoulders and Wordy offered a slightly incredulous, “You just shot two people, you take the time to sign out?”

“If you don’t want to attract attention,” Spike countered as he zoomed in on the vehicle’s license plate.

Lou studied the number and nodded.  “Matches the plate number our witnesses gave us.”  Not that any of them had had any doubt, but it was one more piece of the puzzle slotted neatly into place.

Wordy busied himself checking the paperwork and swiftly announced, “Signed out 16:54, signed in 16:36.  Guys, we got a name, Shane Devlin.”

“Shane Devlin, got it,” Jules acknowledged.

“I’ll run the name,” Spike chipped in, reaching to open up the case he’d carted into the military base.”

“How’s the hand?” Wordy asked as Spike started pulling equipment out.

Spike kept his voice nonchalant and his focus on his job.  “It’s awesome.”

“But don’t do that again,” Lou murmured, just loud enough for his two coworkers to hear him.

“Yeah,” Spike agreed without looking up from the case, “That.”

Wordy grimaced.  “I won’t,” he promised, arching a brow when he received matching skeptical looks.  “Look, I didn’t even do much and it still hurts if I move my head too fast.  I think I learned my lesson.”

“Good,” Lou decided, not noticing when Wordy snuck a glance at his own hand.

Spike, for his part, _did_ notice, but he was a bit wary of pushing Wordy too hard; he’d never tell, but at times, he’d honestly wondered if Wordy _could_ lose his temper…not any more.  Instead, the bomb tech turned his attention to digging up as much as he could about one Shane Devlin.

* * * * *

Once on the road again and headed towards Downsview Base, Greg allowed a faint growl, too soft for his comm to pick up.  The more time that passed without getting Ed’s shooter in custody, the more his latent gryphon traits surfaced, shrieking for _vengeance_ rather than justice.  Add that to Greg’s very human desire for revenge and objectivity was getting harder and harder to hang onto.

Greg flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, breathing slowly and determinedly clinging to his training and years of negotiation experience.  Negotiating _himself_ down was new, but he wasn’t about to let Ed’s shooter escape justice for the sake of an extremely short-sighted and equally short-lived revenge.

When he was sure that he was reasonably back in control, he asked, “Donna, you find him?”

The response was not what he wanted to hear as Donna replied, “This address has nothing to do with the shooter.”

“How’s that?”

Sarcasm touched Donna’s voice.  “Unless he’s crashing with a couple of Vietnamese senior citizens.”

“Stolen license plates?”  Though Greg kept his voice mild, he thumped his steering wheel in frustration.

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Could you check it out, please?”

“I’ll check it,” Donna agreed.  “I’ll get back to you.”

As the Sergeant focused on the road and his immediate plans, he suppressed a groan.  Donna’s failure to capture the shooter meant his gryphon side was, once again, clamoring for blood.  It was going to be a long hunt.

* * * * *

“How are you doing, Private?” Jules asked, inspecting the young soldier.

Private Jordan sported black hair in the usual military style crew cut, brown eyes and thick eyebrows; his injuries looked to be confined to his right upper arm and, though he had to be in pain, he was able to talk.  In short, a young, earnest soldier who’d just been doing his job.

Hovering next to the injured private was a brown-haired army medic already suffering from a receding hairline; he, too, sported a military crew cut and a professional demeanor, though his focus stayed on his patient rather than turning towards Jules and Sam.

“I’m okay,” Private Jordan told Jules.

From the side, Sam observed, “It looks like he got lucky.”

“Yeah,” the medic agreed, “The bullet went right through.”

Anxiously, Jordan asked, “Where’s Keefler?  Is she all right?”

“We’re gonna find her,” Jules reassured the private.  “But we need your help, okay?  Can you tell us what happened?”

The private nodded.  “Meg Keefler was showing me the ropes.”

“What’s your position here?” Sam inquired.

Jordan drew in a breath.  “As of today, mortuary affairs specialist.”

Oooh…quite the rough first day he was having.  “The man who shot you?” Jules questioned.

“Shane Devlin,” Jordan reported.  “He was here to retrieve the personal effects of his brother Richard Devlin.”  The private paused, then added, “Corporal Devlin was killed in Afghanistan.”

* * * * *

_Private Jordan set down the large plastic locker on the table, right across from Shane Devlin as Meg offered her condolences to the grieving man.  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Devlin.”_

_“Okay,” Mr. Devlin replied, his eyes on the locker; Jordan couldn’t imagine how the man must feel, seeing what little was left of his brother’s belongings, all locked up in one standard-sized military locker._

_Mr. Devlin was a rather gaunt man, with haunted brown eyes that looked more than a bit red, thin, almost nonexistent eyebrows, a high forehead, and longish crew cut brown hair that stood up on the top of his head.  It was clear that Mr. Devlin hadn’t shaved recently and he had deep groves in his face, along with a slight cleft in his chin; Jordan chalked the groves and redness up to fresh grief as he started his inspection of Richard Devlin’s locker._

_“Your brother was a…” Meg continued as Jordan reached for the locker’s latch._

_“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Mr. Devlin demanded before Jordan could open the locker._

_“Well, it’s just a formality, sir,” Private Jordan replied, confused by Mr. Devlin’s hostility._

_“No,” Mr. Devlin snapped before demanding, “What’s he doing?”_

_Jordan straightened, trying to calm the man down.  “We usually, ah…we have to do a final inventory of the contents before we can release the locker.”_

_“Okay, well, you can’t just do that, okay?  These are Richard’s items.  They’re personal.  Have some respect.”_

_Though Jordan had no wish to prolong the man’s grief, he still had a job to do.  “Sir, I’m very sorry about your circumstances…”_

_“No!  No!”_

_“…and I promise that your brother’s personal effects will…”_

_“This is his stuff,” Mr. Devlin protested loudly.  “This is completely unacceptable!”_

_Meg finally stepped in, though not as Jordan had expected.  “Jeffrey…”  To the distraught man, she said, “Please excuse us,” before pulling Jordan away.  Jordan listened in mounting disbelief as his superior informed him, “Jeffrey, listen.  This is an emotional day for any family member.”_

_“I know, I get that,” Jordan objected quietly, “I’m respecting that.”_

_His disbelief grew as Meg urged, “Yes, but this guy’s obviously deeply upset, so I think we should let this one go.”_

_“I’m not cutting any corners,” Jordan returned, his voice firm.  “This is protocol, right?”  He paused, but Meg didn’t respond.  “It’s hard for him; it’s hard for everyone else.  We still gotta do our jobs.”  Without waiting for a further response, Jordan returned to Mr. Devlin and the locker.  “Mr. Devlin, you’re free to observe.  You’ll see that we completely respect your brother’s privacy.”_

_As Jordan undid the latches, Mr. Devlin’s composure collapsed.  “No.  No.  Richard gave his life.  Okay?  He gave his life!”_

_So had many other soldiers.  “All right…” Jordan began, determined to explain the entire process to the distraught man._

_“This is not okay!” Mr. Devlin screamed, pulling a gun and pointing it right at Jordan._

_Before he could fire, Meg slammed into Jordan from the side, trying to push him out of the way.  The gun went off twice and both soldiers fell to the ground.  Before Jordan lost consciousness, he thought he saw Devlin hovering over Meg, a look of anguish on his face, but he blacked out too quickly to be sure._

* * * * *

“When I came to, I called for help,” Private Jordan finished.

“No one responded to the gunshots?” Sam asked, a trifle incredulous.  Military base or not, _someone_ should’ve realized something was wrong.

“This is a military base,” Jordan replied, “We hear gunshots all the time.”

Sam quietly seethed; if they’d caught this guy _here_ , then Ed wouldn’t have been shot in the first place.  The medic piped up with his own intel.  “When we got here, Corporal Keefler was gone.  So was the locker.”

“She got in the way, last second,” Jordan murmured.

“Did you get a chance to see what was in the locker?” Jules inquired.

“No.”

Thinking out loud, Sam mused, “Maybe it was something the brother didn’t want you to see.”

“You can get him out of school and ask him,” Spike cut in as he, Lou, and Wordy approached from behind.

Jules and Sam turned, automatically spreading out to let their teammates join them.  “What do you mean?” Jules asked.

“The late Richard Devlin does have a brother named Shane,” Spike started.

“He’s eleven years old,” Lou finished.

“What?”  Surely she’d misheard.

Wordy’s expression was grim.  “Our guy’s an imposter.”

Sam summed up their findings.  “And he went to a heck of a lot of trouble to get his hands on that locker.”

 

[1] Jules is referring to a 24 hour clock instead of a 12 hour clock.  A 12 hour clock starts over at noon and incorporates AM and PM while a 24 hour clock starts over at midnight, flipping from 23:59:59 to 0:00:00.


	5. I'm Not Dead; Let's Have Dinner

Lance swallowed hard, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions in his head.  Part of him wanted to help find the _rat_ who’d shot his pseudo uncle, but he trusted his uncle and Team One to have that well in hand.  The rest of him was alternating between hope that Clark wouldn’t be too mad at him and fear that Clark would never want to have anything to do with him again.

_I thought I’d have more time…_ the teen thought miserably, trying to cobble together a halfway decent explanation that didn’t involve magic; he was done with hiding his magic from his ‘family’, but a busy, bustling hospital wasn’t the time or the place to tell Clark the truth.

A head of curly brown hair caught Lance’s eye and he knew he was out of time; he’d just have to wing it.  Clark didn’t see him at first as he hurried along behind Roy, his gray eyes worried, his eyebrows knit in distress, and all his focus on his father.

Auror Onasi quietly chased off the nurse hovering over Uncle Ed and asking questions, promising that Roy could supply her with all relevant medical information soon.  Brown eyes flicked to Lance and the Auror winked, trying to boost the young man’s spirits, but Lance couldn’t muster even so much as a smile; his stomach was tied up in knots and his hands felt clammy.

As soon as Clark was close enough, he blurted, “Dad, what happened?  Are you okay?”

Lance, sensing a reprieve, pulled back as his Uncle Ed sought to reassure Clark.  “Buddy, I’m okay.  I’m okay.  How’s your Mom?”

“I don’t know,” Clark complained at once, “They won’t tell me anything.”

“They’re getting her set up for a C-section,” Roy put in over his nephew’s shoulder, before Ed could demand answers from him.  “She and the baby are stable right now, but the doctor told me they’re gonna do the C-section as soon as the anesthetist gets here.”

“How long?” Uncle Ed grated out, but Roy shook his head regretfully; he didn’t know.

A dark blonde doctor appeared from behind Lance, leaning over and informing the patient, “Mr. Lane, we’re going to get you something for the pain, okay?”

“Okay, no,” Uncle Ed refused, “You know what?  Just tell me how my wife’s doing.”

The nurse Auror Onasi had chased off only a minute earlier was suddenly back with her clipboard and pen; she descended on Roy to get him to sign off on the surgery.  Spotting her, Uncle Ed growled, “I’m not doing that right now.”

“Ed,” Roy protested automatically as his brother pulled the oxygen tubes free from his face and laboriously sat up.

“Mr. Lane…” the female doctor chided.

The nurse with her clipboard instructed, “Lay back, Mr. Lane.”

Even Clark moved closer as his father kept levering himself upright, worry growing.  “Dad, just…lay…”

“Give me the chair,” Uncle Ed ordered, his eyes slipping past Clark to a nearby wheelchair; that he was completely and utterly determined to make it to his wife’s side was clear…whether he was capable of making the attempt was much less so.

Lance bit his lip, unsure of what he should do; he didn’t want to hide any more, but maybe it was better if he stayed in the background until the crisis was past.  If he stepped forward now, he’d just be adding even more stress to an already stressful situation.  The teen looked up at Auror Onasi, but the Auror looked just as unsure as he felt; when Auror Onasi felt the teen’s gaze, he offered a little shrug of helplessness.

“Mr. Lane, the longer we wait, the lesser your chance of a full recovery,” the blonde doctor informed the injured man; Clark looked rather alarmed at that possibility.

“Look…” Uncle Ed grated out, his eyes fixed on his son.  “I wasn’t here when my son was born.  I promised my wife I’d be here today.”  A tear slipped free from Clark’s eyes as he stared back at his father.  “So you gonna help me or not?”

Lance quietly slipped around the group and snagged the wheelchair, coming back with it before the doctor could give in.  “I will,” he offered.

Clark snapped around, his eyes saucer-wide as they landed on the slightly younger boy.  As the moment hung, Clark gawped, his mouth working soundlessly.

Instead of backing down – which he _really_ wanted to do as Clark kept staring at him – Lance forced his most cocky, daredevilish grin on his face and quipped, “I’m not dead.  Let’s have dinner.”

Alanna groaned theatrically, burying her face in her hands.  As Clark turned towards her, confused, she threw her head back, rolled her eyes at the ceiling, and declared, “Only _you_ , big brother mine, could pull a line from _Sherlock_ at a time like this.”

“Y-You…you…you…” Clark stammered, looking between the siblings and even glancing back at his resigned father.  “You’re alive?”

In his peripheral vision, Lance saw Roy tug the confused doctor and nurse away to give them the hasty official cover story.  But he stayed focused on Clark and nodded once in confirmation.

“How?” Clark whispered, right before his eyes hardened.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lance cringed and dropped his gaze, rubbing at his shoulder as he fumbled for an explanation.  “I needed time,” he told the floor, unable to meet Clark’s disbelieving and hurt gaze.  “And…and things were crazy and they’re still crazy, but I can’t hide anymore.”

The teen peeked up to see Clark’s brow furrowed in confusion; before Lance could stumble over another attempt to explain, Auror Onasi cleared his throat and stepped in.  “Perhaps we can discuss this later, Mr. Lane?  I imagine your mother is getting anxious to have you and your father back by her side.”

Clark swung towards his father.  “Does Mom know?”

“Not everything, buddy,” Uncle Ed replied, meeting Clark’s half-accusing gaze.  “Clark, ‘crazy’ is an understatement and I promise you’ll get the whole story, but not right now.”

Clark studied his father for several long moments and finally nodded acceptance.  But he wouldn’t let Lance help any further and made it very clear that he was still angry at the younger boy.

* * * * *

Giles Onasi frowned and traded grim looks with his partner.  Roy evaluated the situation, frowning himself at Clark’s behavior.  As the group made their way to the elevators and squeezed into one of them for the ride up, the partners silently debated the best course of action.  Once they reached the Maternity floor, Giles made his move and quietly tugged Clark to the side; Roy tapped Lance on the shoulder and gestured him towards Giles and Clark.

One of the Maternity ward nurses hesitantly pointed Giles to a currently empty room and Giles wasted no time in pushing the two young men inside.  Once inside, he pinned Clark with a glare.  “I would have thought, Mr. Lane, that you would be willing to give your friend the benefit of the doubt.”

Clark crossed his arms, looking mulish at the mild rebuke, but Giles was having no part of it.

“Since that seems to be beyond you, let’s run down the facts, shall we?” Giles inquired, deliberately being as condescending as possible.  “After being hit head-on by a drunk driver, Lance here was rescued from Sergeant Parker’s burning vehicle by a woman who decided to keep him as a replacement for her dead son.”

Clark jerked back, his eyes going wide.  “What?” he blurted, looking between an unsympathetic Giles and a red-faced Lance.

“Naturally, Lance objected, but he was in no condition to escape her custody, particularly since he was still injured from the car crash.”  Giles leaned forward, dropping his voice to a growl.  “And it’s not Lance’s fault that he was prematurely declared dead by the coroner, a declaration that was made on the basis of a faulty forensics report.  As a matter of fact, Mr. Lane, it was your uncle and myself who found Lance alive, _still_ in the custody of his rescuer/kidnapper and in the middle of being smuggled out of the country.”  Giles let his statements hang, then cocked his head to the side and inquired sarcastically, “Any questions?”

He was unsurprised when Clark could only stare, completely stunned by the bombshells Giles had unceremoniously dropped on him.  With a snort, Giles ushered Lance out the room and pointed the teenager in the direction of Sophie’s room.  Then the Auror turned back to wait for Clark to regain his mental footing enough to start asking questions, instead of simply assuming.

It took several minutes, but Clark finally came out of his funk enough to drop into a chair someone had left in the room and run his hands through his hair.  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

The question was hurt and plaintive.  Giles sighed heavily and reentered the room, closing the door behind him.  “I’m giving you the bare basics, understand?”  Clark nodded without looking up; the Auror found another chair and pulled it over with one foot in front of Clark, though he didn’t sit down immediately.  “Some of it, I can’t tell you, not here at the hospital at any rate.”

“Huh?”

Giles’ jaw twitched.  “Classified,” he offered ruefully.

“Oh.”  Clark’s frame slumped.

“Look, kid, I’m not saying you can never know,” Giles remarked, feeling awkward.  Clark’s head came up.  “Just that I can’t tell you _here_ , okay?”

Clark considered the Auror’s words.  “So, no one told me because it’s…classified?”

Giles looked down, debating with himself for several moments.  Then he reached into his jacket and tugged out a thick yellow envelope.  “I’m going to let you hang onto a picture for a while, all right?  If you can figure out _why_ I gave you _this_ picture and who’s _in_ the picture, then I can tell you more while we’re here at the hospital.”  The Auror shrugged.  “If not, then consider the picture one more thing I’ll have to explain.”

“But this picture is part of it?”

The Auror hid a smirk as he passed Clark a photo of a young boy with brown hair and bright blue eyes.  “You might say it’s the whole reason your father couldn’t tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could definitely use some prayer this week. On Sunday, I either lost or had my wallet stolen. Praise the Lord, I did get it back (intact, no less), but I'd already cancelled all my cards. Thankfully, my local bank can print debit cards right in the branch or my week would probably be very, very long. Then, once I finally got home and started squaring other things away, I discovered that my prescriptions were a bit...messed up. Naturally, all of this is right around the New Year when banks and doctor's offices tend to be closed. So...fun times.
> 
> Thank you very much to everyone who's been reading and an extra special thanks to those taking the time to comment on my stories.
> 
> In honor of New Years, I'm also posting a Side-Story called, "Of Fear and Overcoming It".
> 
> Please enjoy and Happy New Year 2019!


	6. Off the Rails

Greg strode into Downsview Base, his face grim and a snap to his stride; there was no point in hiding his current state of mind from his team, particularly since he needed their help to keep his gryphon side under control.  Even so, if he could, he _did_ plan to keep Toth from figuring out just how close to the edge he was skating.  Toth already had too many pieces of the puzzle for Greg’s liking without giving him any more.

“Boss…” Winnie called, “I got Donna.”

“Patch her into the team,” Greg instructed.  As the comm clicked in his ear, he added, “Go ahead, Donna.”

“Okay, baby steps here,” Donna admitted.  “There was a mass theft of license plates about a week ago.  The job is connected to a drug dealer named Neal Cavelle.”

“Awesome,” Wordy remarked, sarcasm reeking.

“I know this guy,” Donna continued, her voice gaining a fiercer edge.  “He’s an up-and-comer.  We tried to take him down when I was undercover at Drug Squad and couldn’t do it.”

A smart up-and-comer then, Greg mused, rolling his left shoulder; the pain in his left arm had finally died down to a level he could live with.  The arm itself was still throbbing and numb, but he could once again use it.  If his team had to go tactical, he’d have to forgo his ‘team sense’, but for now, he could manage.

“What’s Cavelle into?” Sam inquired.

“Heroin.”

“There’s your Afghanistan connection,” Spike opined; Greg nodded to himself at his bomb tech’s conclusion.

“You think this is Cavelle we’re after?” Greg pressed the ex-undercover cop.

“No,” Donna replied at once.  “Ed’s shooter does not match the description, but it could be one of his guys.”

“Okay,” Greg accepted, “Lean on your contacts at Drug Squad.”

“Yeah, I will,” Donna agreed before signing off.

As she did so, Greg covered the last few meters between himself and his team, all of them looking worried for their team leader.  “How is he?” Wordy asked before his Sergeant could speak.

“Couple broken ribs, lost a lot of blood,” Greg led with.  “He’ll be good; Roy and his partner are going to keep an eye on him for us.”

“What aren’t you saying, Boss?” Jules inquired shrewdly.

The Sergeant debated, then opted to say, “Possible nerve damage in his arm; it’s too soon to tell.”  But even as he spoke, his hands communicated that Healers had been called in and their team leader was, as he’d said, going to be fine.  “So, drugs…”

Sam picked up the baton.  “Smuggled in a dead soldier’s locker,” he confirmed.

“Sergeant Parker…”

Greg didn’t bother to hide his grimace.  Keeping his voice polite and level, he replied, “Yes, Dr. Toth?”

But for once, the good doctor wasn’t trying to hinder his team.  “I’ve worked with soldiers’ families,” Toth informed the group, “I know a thing or two about the chain of grief.”

Jules pounced on the additional background info.  “Well, how does a civilian get access to a soldier’s belongings?”

“He doesn’t,” Toth returned, his voice matter-of-fact.  “The delivery follows a strict chain-of-custody protocol.  The deceased’s items are examined, prepared, and inventoried overseas, transported by locker, under strict supervision, and then stored at the depot until they’re released to a family member after a second inspection.”

The Sergeant frowned, running through the chain mentally.  By his count, Cavelle would need at least two insiders, one at each end, to facilitate the smuggling.  Risky, but obviously doable.

Spike’s train of thought was running a bit differently, as he observed, “So if you’d want to arrange a drug shipment, you’d bypass civilian border inspection, which is smart.”

Sam, on the other hand, was focusing on the chain’s end.  “All you’d need is an accomplice on the inside.”

“Let’s check the duty roster,” Jules agreed.

Greg watched the two depart, an uneasy feeling in his gut.

* * * * *

Ed was aware that Onasi had held Clark and Lance back and quietly approved of the maneuver.  Better to nip any issues in the bud and start getting things back to what passed for normal.  In the meantime, he focused on the room ahead of him where Sophie was.  He could see his wife on the hospital bed, obviously in pain even as his brother opened the door.

“Eddie, what happened?” Sophie cried as she saw her husband in a wheelchair with bandages on his left arm.

“I’m okay,” Ed soothed as Roy pushed his chair right up to the bed.  “I’m right here.”

Before she could reply, Sophie’s face scrunched in pain and she let out a cry.

“Why is she in pain?” Ed demanded of the doctor tending to his wife.

“The anesthetist’s on his way,” the doctor replied at once.

Ed switched his attention back to Sophie.  “Sophie…Sophie, you’re gonna be okay.”  Leaning closer, he coached, “It’s time for breathing, like we practiced, okay?  Breathe in, breathe in…”

Sophie met his eyes as she obeyed, trusting him and using him as her anchor in the storm of pain, fear, and uncertainty.

“Hold,” Ed murmured, watching carefully.  “…out.  That’s it, baby.  That’s it.  In…and out…  That’s it.  Good, good.  That’s it.”

* * * * *

Jules took the clipboard from one of the corporals behind the desk, scanning it even as she pulled it towards her.  “Thanks,” she told the corporal before moving away and holding the clipboard so both she and Sam could read it at the same time.

“All right, today is Meg Keefler’s shift,” Jules observed.  “She runs it alone.  She definitely knew that the locker was coming in.”

“And they gave her Private Jordan to train.”

Thinking out loud, Jules continued, “Keefler said to let this one go, but he wouldn’t.”

Sam finished her thought.  “He’s the reason things went off the rails.”

“So the gunman didn’t abduct Keefler for leverage,” Jules reasoned out, “He took her ‘cause she was wounded.”

“Because she’s in on it,” Sam hissed.  The pair traded looks and hurried back to their teammates; they had a new lead.

* * * * *

Wordy picked up their conclusion and ran with it as the team circled up.  “So the gunman didn’t fire at Meg Keefler, not on purpose.”

“No,” Sam agreed, “She got in the line of fire.”

“She’s wounded; he’s probably looking for help,” Spike offered as he inspected the crime scene one last time.

“He probably feels guilty for hurting her, too,” Lou observed, “Even if she got in the line of fire, he still shot her.”

“Right, Lou,” Sarge confirmed, before directing his next words to the whole team.  “Your partner gets shot, where do you go?”

“Not the hospital,” Jules opined.

Wordy’s words were slow, the constable thinking even as he voiced his two cents.  “A colleague; a friend he trusted…”

The army medic nearby had been packing up as Team One brainstormed and he couldn’t help but overhear them.  As Wordy finished his thought, the medic spoke up from behind the group.  “Captain Quadir.”

The officers turned towards the man even as Sarge queried, “Who?”

The medic came over, immediately offering up the details.  “Joni Quadir.  She’s a doctor.  She and Keefler served together; they’re friends.”

Team One traded looks, then Lou asked, “Do you know her address?”

* * * * *

“Sophie, breathe in…two, three, four, hold…and out,” Ed coached, all his attention on his wife.  Roy hovered behind him, ready to help if he could, but Ed was barely aware of him.

Sophie, though, traded a quick look with her brother-in-law.  “Eddie,” she pleaded, “You gotta let them help you.”

“I’m okay,” Ed refuted.  “I’m okay.  Breathe in…two, three, four, hold.”

As he kept coaching Sophie through the breathing exercise, a new doctor entered and Sophie’s doctor started briefing him as quickly as he could.  “She’s still at five centimeters.”  Turning to husband and wife, the blue-smocked doctor announced, “Mrs. Lane?  Sophie?  We’re going to do the C-sections, all right?  Soon as the anesthetist has you set up…”

Something on the medical monitors went off as the doctor spoke, demanding attention and immediate action; the doctor darted a look, then snapped at his colleague, “On her side.”

“What’s going on?” Ed barked as Roy scrambled out of the way.

“We’ve lost readings on the baby,” the doctor explained as he and the anesthetist moved Sophie to rest on her side.  “We need to get the baby back into position.”

Sophie’s eyes locked on her husband as she bit back cries of pain.  “It’s okay,” Ed soothed her, “I’m right here.  I’m not going anywhere.”

* * * * *

Team One rammed through the small house’s doors, Jules and Parker in the lead.  The officers located two females on the lower floor of the house, in the house’s small living room, next to a bay window.  “Police!  Hands in the air!” Jules yelled as she entered.

Right beside her, her Boss’s temper was off its leash as he snarled, “Show us your hands!  Do it now!  Hands in the air!”

Outside the room, Sam and Spike charged up the stairs while Lou and Wordy swept the rest of the bottom floor, moving fast and in sync.

Jules felt her eyes widen in surprise and no small amount of dismay as Sarge closed in on the injured woman and roared, “The man who brought you here, where is he?”

If she hadn’t been sure before, she was now; Sarge was out of control.


	7. I Need Answers

Outside the living room, Greg heard Sam clatter down the stairs; as the constable entered the living room, he announced, “House is clear.  He’s not here.”

His gryphon side pulled back a bit in clear disappointment, giving Greg precious breathing room to calm down and rein himself back in.  Still, he was far more curt than usual as he faced the injured woman on the couch.  “Look, I realize you’ve been shot, Corporal, but I need answers now.  How you doing?”

Dark brown, wavy hair tumbled partway down her back and framed a face that was tight with pain and worry.  She looked like she was right on the edge of crying, her mouth scrunched up to keep her lip from quivering and her light blue eyes were as defiant as she could manage.  She wasn’t a hardened criminal; if fact, if Greg had to guess, she’d been forced into her current position, but it was nearly impossible to muster any sympathy for her at the moment.  Keefler’s doctor friend hovered next to the couch, tending to the bullet wound in her chest, but even she was grim; she knew all too well that Meg Keefler was between a rock and a hard place.

“I’m fine,” Keefler gritted out.

Experience and long practice had Greg negotiating even as he wrestled with his rising temper.  “The man who brought you here, he’s making some dangerous choices right now,” Greg informed the injured woman, watching her carefully.  “We need to find out where he is.”

Keefler shook her head, curling away from the angry group of cops.

“You know him,” Greg said flatly, “We know you’re involved.”

Captain Quadir spoke up, her voice firm, “Meg…talk.”  When Keefler’s face turned mulish, Quadir demanded, “Who do you think you’re helping by not talking?  Meg, neither of you is walking away from this.”

The doctor was wearing a stethoscope and her hair was similar to Keefler’s, long and wavy, but black to Keefler’s brown.  The business-like woman’s face was slim and sculpted, with full, pouty lips and eyebrows that had been carefully trimmed to curve neatly above her brown eyes.  A pert nose completed the picture and, judging by Keefler’s bandages, she was a very good doctor who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.

Greg followed up, somehow keeping his voice level.  “This guy you think you’re protecting is on a very destructive path.”  He almost choked on his next words, but got them out.  “We can help him.  You give us his name.”

It looked as if Keefler was choking on her own words, but she finally gave him an answer.  “His name’s Colin Potter.  He’s my husband.”

“He’s your husband,” Greg echoed grimly, before growling, “Where’d he go?”

Sensing his simmering fury, she balked.  “I don’t know.”

“Did he mention the name Cavelle?” Jules questioned, “Neal Cavelle?”

Keefler recognized the name, but she didn’t respond.

It was fortunate that neither woman was watching Greg Parker closely or they almost certainly would have seen his brown eyes shift and gleam with a gryphon’s protective rage.  “Meg, do you want to help your husband?!” Greg shouted.  As she jumped and looked up, he snapped, “Neal Cavelle!”

“Yes,” she miserably gave in.

Jules stepped in, an intervention that Greg later gave thanks for.  “Is that who he’s meeting?”

“Yes,” Keefler confirmed.  “He didn’t tell me where.”

Well aware he’d already lost control, Greg pulled back.  “Okay, keep talking to her,” he murmured to Jules before taking himself away from the situation.

Once he was a few steps away, the Sergeant flexed his hands open and closed several times, determinedly yanking his temper – and his gryphon side – back onto a leash.  His vision was still far too detailed and his hearing picked up every nuance of sound, but he didn’t have time to deal with that.  “Donna?” he called.

“Yeah?” she inquired.

“Gunman’s name is Colin Potter; he’s on his way to meet Cavelle,” Greg reported.  “You get anything from Drug Squad?”

It took a moment for Donna to switch gears.  “Uh, he lives in Parkdale, but he conducts after-hours meetings at his brother’s trading company at 2336 Dundast Street East.”

“Okay, let’s get a head start,” Sam decided; he and Wordy hurried past their Sergeant, though Wordy tossed his Sarge a quick, encouraging thumbs-up on his way by.

Greg couldn’t muster a return smile, instead offering a brisk, “Keep listening.”

“You know,” Donna remarked, “If you get Colin to talk about Cavelle, that would be the first solid piece of evidence we have on the guy.  You’d make Drug Squad’s day.”

All his efforts to keep from exploding nearly went to waste right then and there.  Let the man who’d shot one of _his_ people walk just so the louse could turn state’s evidence?  Once again, Greg’s eyes burned with gryphon fury and his teeth flashed in a brief, silent snarl.  “Yeah?” he questioned, mock-lightly, before going icy cold.  “I don’t give a damn about their day.  Just get there fast.”

“Sir?” Donna questioned, concern in her voice.

“What?” Greg bit back.

“Do you want my team to handle this?”

It took an act of willpower to force a modicum of calm back into his voice.  “We’ll meet you there, Donna.”

“Okay, but…”

“Go,” Greg ordered.  “Observe and maintain distance, all right?  We need to know our players better before we join the game, that’s what we’re doing right now, you copy me?”

“Yep,” Donna confirmed, “Loud and clear.”

Greg took a few more seconds, breathing slowly and trying to let the tension dissipate.  It didn’t work, but he did regain enough control to return to Jules and their best lead on Potter.

* * * * *

The man driving the SUV sniffed and fought back tears as he drove; how could he have done that to her?  How could he have risked his precious Meg?  But, as had so often been the case for the past several months, his need quickly overcame his regret.  He stopped his car and pulled out his small vial of precious white powder.  Colin was careful to only let a tiny amount tip out onto his fist, then he quickly sniffed it up and closed the vial before setting off once more.

Almost…almost done…

* * * * *

“Colin’s a war correspondent,” Meg Keefler told the more sympathetic female constable, keeping her eyes away from the angry, steely eyed Sergeant.  “He was on assignment in Afghanistan.”  She sniffed.  “He came back, but it wasn’t Colin, really.  He’d changed.”

* * * * *

_Meg descended the stairs just in time to hear glass shatter.  She crouched down to see that Colin had accidently knocked a lamp over; even as she watched, he gathered up the broken glass, trembling and sweating._

“To get the stories he needed over there…”

_Meg hurried to her husband’s side, determined to keep him from hurting himself.  She was angry at the decisions he’d made, at the decisions he was_ still _making, but she loved him nonetheless._

_“Hey, hey.  Hey.”  As she grasped his hand and he looked up, she saw the desperation in his face._

“…he got close to his sources.  He worked those relationships.”

_“Are you okay?” Meg asked, resting a hand on his arm._

“Trust.  A favor for a favor.”

* * * * *

Greg watched Keefler closely, grateful as the analytical part of his mind ground into gear; with information about the subject to consider and weigh, his gryphon side was pulling back, lying in wait for its prey to be found.  Hopefully, by then he’d have regained enough control to think like a _cop_ instead of a friend.

“Yeah, I mean, he’d seen some disturbing things over there,” Keefler remarked, shrugging as best she could.  “And everyone copes their own way.  Colin’s always been…impulsive, addictive.  And it turns out some of those sources he made friends with…”

“Drug traffickers,” Jules concluded.

Keefler nodded.  “They got him on opium first.  And then heroin.  And then whatever he could get his hands on.”

Her voice was bitter and Greg tried, he really tried, to see things from her point of view.  But all he could see was that if Potter hadn’t made the choices he had, then Ed never would’ve been shot by an addicted drug smuggler in the middle of trying to get to his pregnant wife’s side.  Grimly, the Sergeant observed, “And those friends kept enabling him, a favor for a favor.”

Keefler’s eyes closed and she started to cry.

* * * * *

_Meg sat next to her husband on their couch, as close to him as she could get, trying to understand why he was so haggard and desperate, even outside of his newly acquired drug habit._

_“I’m sorry, Megs,” he said miserably, holding onto her hand as if it was the only thing keeping him anchored._

_“Don’t be sorry,” she told him, stroking the back of his head.  “It…it’s over.  We’ll get you help.”_

_“It’s not over,” he replied, shaking his head in despair._

_Leaning forward, she questioned, “What do you mean?”_

_“I owe them money.”_

_Panic and fear rose up in her.  “But they’re ten thousand miles from here.”_

_“They have people here, they’ll find me.”  Colin paused, then emphasized, “They’ll find us.”  As Meg stared at him in horror, he whispered, “I need your help, Megs,” and pulled her close in a hug._

 “They had someone…on the inside in Afghanistan and they needed someone on the receiving end.  Someone who could turn a blind eye.”

_“They said that if we don’t do this, they’re going to come after you,” Colin related._

_“After me?” Meg questioned, confused.  She had nothing to do with Colin’s drug trafficking sources, why would they come after her?_

_His smile was bitter, trapped.  “They know I don’t care what happens to me.  And I don’t, Megs, I don’t.”  Meg swore her heart stopped; how had they gotten to this point?  “I don’t care at all.  But I can’t let them hurt you.”  For an instant, her own bitterness choked her; if he cared about her so much, why had he gotten involved with drug traffickers in the first place?  Why had he gotten hooked on drugs if he loved her so much?_

_“And look,” Colin babbled, “We’ll just do this, just this one time.  Just this one time, then my debt to them is gone.”  He stopped, looking her in the eye.  “And then I will get help.  And we will go back to the way things were.  But you have to believe me.  It won’t work if you don’t believe me.”_

_“I know,” she whispered._

_His eyes locked on her.  “Do you believe me?”_

_She looked back at him, trying to speak and finally smiled sadly.  “I believe you.”  She stroked his cheek and pulled him closer.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she soothed.  “I believe you.”_

* * * * *

“What could I say?” Keefler wept.  “What else could I do?  But something went wrong.”

“We know,” Jules replied as her boss stifled his first response to Keefler’s story.

Had she _truly_ believed it would only be _one_ time?  Had _Potter_ truly believed that?  Once the drug runners had that first time hanging over the couple, it never would have been over.  For the rest of their lives, Meg Keefler and Colin Potter would have been at Cavelle’s beck and call, useful only so long as Meg was employed as a mortuary affairs specialist at the Downsview Base.

“No, not today at the warehouse,” Keefler wailed, dragging Greg’s attention back.  “I mean on the shipping end.”  She tilted her chin past them, to something neither officer had noticed before.  “Look under the blanket.”

Jules hurried over to the blanket, which was draped over Richard Devlin’s missing military locker.  As she knelt next to it, pushed the blanket aside, and opened the locker up to check inside, Captain Quadir filled them in.  “Someone must have intercepted the drugs before the locker left Kabul.”

“Colin freaked,” Keefler explained, her fear and panic obvious.  “We told him he could explain, tell the guys that it’s not his fault.”

Explain to a group of drug dealers that a known addict _hadn’t_ stolen the shipment for himself?  Frankly, Greg was on Potter’s side, much as he hated it; there was absolutely no way that Cavelle would accept such an explanation from the hapless journalist turned drug smuggler.  Even if it _was_ true.

“But he was high,” Quadir chipped in, “Paranoid.  He wasn’t listening.”

“He said there’s no way they’d believe him,” Keefler sobbed.  “But he went anyway.”

Jules hurried back, a concerned look on her face.  “Empty-handed?  Why?”

“Because they know where we live.”

Over the comm, Wordy observed, “He’s already shot three people today, trying to keep this appointment.”  Greg envied his constable’s even temper and ability to stay calm…a quality he was sorely lacking at the moment.

Sam offered up his own theory, “Maybe he thinks the only way out now is to kill the bad guys first.”

Greg turned away from the two women and stepped away, calculating his – _their_ – next move as quickly as he could.  “Donna, you listening?”

“Yep,” the blonde confirmed, “He shows up without the drugs, that’s not gonna go over well.”

From the background sounds, she and Team Three had arrived at Cavelle’s building.  “Any sign of him yet?”

“No.  Nor Cavelle.”

Jules joined her boss.  “Our priority is to keep them apart,” she announced.  “Colin’s under the influence, emotionally impulsive, and he’s up against guys who can aim.”

Dry sarcasm lurked in Greg’s voice.  “And that would be a bad thing.”

Of course, the ever-present Toth couldn’t let that one slide.  “Sergeant, how are you doing?”

Greg almost literally bit his tongue to stifle his first three responses.  Even then, it felt like he was letting his team leader down when he remarked, “Team, you heard Jules.  Connect, respect, protect.”

Jules took over.  “Winnie, unis and an EMT to this address.”

“Copy that,” Winnie acknowledged.

Parker trailed after his constable and let Jules speak to their accomplice/witness.  “Thank you, Meg.”

“Please, please don’t let them hurt him,” Keefler begged.

“We’ll let you know as soon as he’s safe,” Jules promised.

It was a good thing _she’d_ promised.  For his part, Greg couldn’t quite prevent a brief, but fierce desire to rip Keefler’s drug smuggling, cop-shooting husband to _shreds_.


	8. Double Drop

Lance watched intently from just outside the door as the doctors worked around the three adult Lanes to save the life of the youngest, yet-to-be-born Lane.  Uncle Ed was coaching Aunt Sophie through her breathing exercises and doing his best to keep her calm, but Lance kept his eyes trained on the medical equipment.  No, he wasn’t an expert in reading it, but he’d gotten a crash course during his sister’s hospital stay.  And it didn’t look good; he glanced over his shoulder at Auror Onasi, giving the man a questioning look.

Auror Onasi sighed quietly, moving up so only Lance and Alanna could hear him.  “Got a Healer on the way for Ed,” he murmured, “But Sophie’s too close to that sea-section to risk it.”

Both siblings made faces, but they understood.  Lance frowned.  “Do we need to leave?”

Confusion glinted, then Auror Onasi drew in a sharp breath.  “No,” he refuted, shaking his head.  “I asked for Healer Wesley; she’s already met both of you and she’s usually pretty level-headed.”

Alanna looked back at the frantic activity inside the room, then over her shoulder and around.  “Where’s Clark?”

Humor flashed in Auror Onasi’s eyes.  “I gave him a mystery to solve.”

Before the Calvins could press him for a better answer, Clark arrived, holding a picture and scowling at both the photo and Auror Onasi.

The slightest smirk quirked Auror Onasi’s jaw.  “Figure it out yet?”

Clark’s scowl turned black and he glared instead of answering.

* * * * *

Colin Potter sniffed up another precious pinch of white powder as the elevator climbed upwards.  He juggled his gun and the vial for a moment, tucking the vial in his pocket and out of sight.  He sniffed hard, wishing, bitterly, that today’s chain of disasters had never happened, that he’d never taken that stupid assignment to Afghanistan, but he had, and everything had gone wrong, and Meg was hurt and still in danger.  Well, not any more…it didn’t matter anymore…nothing mattered except keeping her safe…

The elevator dinged as it came to a stop and Colin edged out, gun tilted up and ready to go.

* * * * *

The last of Team One’s trucks pulled smoothly into the parking garage for Cavelle’s building.  “Team Three, we’re here,” Parker announced.  “What do you got?”

Donna approached the first four Team One members, informing them, “Drug Squad’s undercover across the street.  Your guy just entered the building.”

“Which office does Cavelle use?” Spike asked.

“It’s not an office, it’s an executive lounge,” Donna replied, “Tenth floor, red wall.”

“Okay,” Sam decided, “We’ll take the stairs.”

“We have a tac plan worked up on Cavelle,” Donna added as Parker and Jules joined the group.  “Drug Squad’s gonna watch him from the outside, we’re gonna take him down in the lobby.”

Lou nudged Spike aside, holding up a phone quite similar to the ones Team Three was slated to get soon.  “This the lounge?” he asked, tapping the screen, which automatically zoomed in and enlarged the blueprints.

Donna inspected it a moment.  “Yeah.”

Lou pulled the phone back and held it flat, tapping another control.  Right before Donna’s eyes, the blueprints expanded up and a faint blue outline of the room, right down to every last _chair_ inside, appeared in the air above the phone.  The impressed constable suppressed a low whistle.

“It’s a big room,” Spike observed, reaching out and somehow turning the image to get a good look at the lounge.  “It’s exposed glass.”

“We’re gonna need to know where he is,” Sam growled.

“I got it covered,” Spike reassured his acting team leader.

“Wait,” Lou murmured, pointing to a spot behind what looked like a bar.  “Wasn’t on the blueprints I loaded, but that looks like a door.”

“Wait, is that more up to date than the blueprints?” Donna demanded; dang, now she _really_ wanted the new phones.

“Can be,” Wordy informed her, leaning close to inspect the spot Lou had pointed out.  He traced from the door and the hallway it led to, frowning thoughtfully.  “Looks like it leads to straight to a staircase; if he makes it out of the lounge, we can pin him on the stairs.”

“I’d come up from the lower floor,” Spike agreed, manipulating the aerial blueprints to show both floors at the same time.  “Cut him off at the pass.”

“Those stairs look odd,” Jules remarked, tilting her head to the side.

Her colleagues eyed the stairs as did Donna.  Finally Sam shrugged.  “We can make it work.”  His eyes turned to Spike.  “You’ve got it?”

“Yep,” Spike confirmed.

“Copy that,” Sam acknowledged.

As Team One started to draw back, Parker told Donna, “Hey, go careful, Donna.”

“Get your man,” Donna returned, watching as Team One hurried into the building.

* * * * *

Colin kept his gun under his jacket as he walked towards the lounge, bracing himself for what he was about to do.  A sound brought his head around, but when he didn’t spot anything, he kept walking towards the door.

* * * * *

Parker briefly took the lead up the stairs, then took up a position to cover his teammates as they raced past him; inside, his gryphon instincts thrummed in anticipation and the Sergeant grimly recognized that suppressing them wasn’t doing a _lick_ of good…he could keep trying to ignore them or he could use them to do his job, but he needed to decide now, before they pushed him into doing something he’d regret for the rest of his life.

* * * * *

The silver gun slipped free of his jacket as Colin approached the lounge, panting.  He reached out with the key card in his left hand, unlocking the door as he brought his gun up and pushed the door open with his shoulder.  No one was inside, so Colin edged all the way in and gently pushed the door shut behind him.  Then he paced across the room to the windows, ginning himself up for what came next; what he _had_ to do to protect his beloved Meg.

* * * * *

Sam reached the next landing and took over covering duties as his teammates streamed past him.  This was it; everything they’d been through today and it all came down to this.  If this was Team One’s last call, Sam was utterly determined to make it a _good_ one.

* * * * *

Colin looked around the lounge and wandered, resentment boiling up.  A place like this and Cavelle needed more?  A place like this and Cavelle felt free to threaten him?  Threaten his wife?  In his drug-addled mind, Colin thought he heard a sound and he hurried to a massive white support pole, hiding behind it and aiming his gun at the door.  Eagerness spiraled through him; eagerness for all of this…to be over and done with…

* * * * *

Jules hit the next landing and immediately twisted to have her weapon ready for action as her teammates jogged past.  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Sam and felt a warm thrill; he still wanted her.  Everything she’d put him through and he still wanted her.  She wouldn’t let him down again, no matter what.  Even if she lost her spot on Team One, it was worth it… _he_ was worth it.

On the landing just above Jules’ location, Sam took over cover duties again as Spike hurried past calling, “Heading into position one floor down.”  The rest of them continued upwards, to the tenth floor.

* * * * *

After a few seconds, Colin backed away from the protective pillar, feeling his pulse alternate between speeding up and slowing down.  He panted hard, resisting the urge to take another pinch; no, he needed to save it, needed to keep it hidden for when the cravings got worse.  Instead, he decided to investigate the bar, musing on if alcohol could settle his jangling nerves or if the bar would make a good hiding place.

* * * * *

Wordy extended his mirror to its full length, inspecting the hallway; though his headache still lingered, it had faded enough that it was more of a minor annoyance than anything else.  He’d dealt with worse and still done his job, no problem.  Lou lingered at his shoulder to provide the backup needed for if the subject managed to slip the net and reach the staircase.  At least, that’s what Wordy told himself Lou was there for; he had no doubt that Spike and Lou were still keeping an eye on him, a thought that both annoyed and warmed at the same time.

“Clear?” Sarge questioned as Wordy snapped the mirror back and pushed it closed.

“Yeah,” Wordy confirmed, watching as his boss led the way past, Sam and Jules at his back; Lou moved past as well, but took up a position on the opposite wall, scanning for any unexpected movement.

“Spike?” Sarge demanded.

“I’m underneath,” Spike reported.

From the elevators, Wordy and Lou watched as their boss dropped back, letting Sam and Jules move up on the door leading to the room where their subject was hiding.  _We got him._

* * * * *

Lance kept one eye on the proceedings inside Aunt Sophie’s room and one eye on Clark.  “I don’t get it,” Clark complained quietly, waving the picture in his hand.  “What does some little kid have to do with what my Dad’s been hiding?”

_Some little kid?_   Lance turned, snagging the photo out of Clark’s hand before the older boy could stop him; Auror Onasi winced and pointedly looked away, whistling innocently to himself.  As soon as Lance saw the picture, he knew.  Confused, he looked up at Auror Onasi.  “That’s me; why did you give Clark a picture of me?”

Gryphon hearing picked up a steady beat from the medical equipment in Aunt Sophie’s room, but his attention stayed focused on a perplexed Clark and an abashed Auror Onasi.  Auror Onasi looked the young teen in the eye.  “That photo is from the investigation.”

“What investigation?” Clark asked eagerly.

Lance looked down at the picture again and let enough of his magic loose to make the image of him start moving; Auror Onasi had frozen the photo before giving it to Clark.  “My kidnapping,” he replied simply, handing the photo back to Clark.  “You wanted to know why you couldn’t be told I was still alive?  That’s why.”

Clark took the photo, hissing in shock at the movement in it.  But his expression was bewildered.  “But this is…you as a little kid?  What, were you kidnapped before?”

“No, never,” Lance informed Clark and, in his hand, a small globe of golden light materialized.  Magic whispered and he turned, laying his hand flat against the window between him and his pseudo aunt and uncle.  “You’ve got all the pieces now, Clark.  Everything you need to figure this out.”

* * * * *

Spike hefted the pole in his hands, raising the thermal scanner up to the ceiling.  Intently, he watched the screen as he moved, looking for the least bit of disturbance.  Then the monitor lit up.  “I got him,” Spike announced.  “He’s on the move in there.”  Brown eyes narrowed and Spike’s grip tightened on his equipment as he followed the subject’s movements.  When the subject paused, he called, “Black wall.”

* * * * *

“Copy,” Sam acknowledged.  “Let’s take down the door.”

Gryphon instincts surfaced and Greg hunched his shoulders, feeling like a predator about to spring.  _Good,_ he thought viciously, _Let Potter find out what it feels like to stare down the barrel of a gun with no way out._   Sam fired twice at the door, shattering the hinges; with a surge of fury and adrenaline, Greg kicked the door down, watching as it flew back and thudded to the ground with grim satisfaction.  Jules whipped around the door frame, throwing two grenades into the room.

A quick glance to the side at just the right moment kept Greg from being blinded by the explosions and he reveled in seeing Potter reel back against the bar, knocking several bottles to the ground with a crash of broken glass.

“Police!  SRU!” Sam yelled, charging in the door with Jules and Parker right behind him.

“Drop your weapon!” Jules ordered.

“SRU!” Greg roared, frustration rising as the smoke from the grenades obscured his view of the subject.

“SRU!” Sam called, moving to the left to block Potter’s escape.

“SRU!  Hands in the air!” Jules called, moving right.

Greg caught a quick glimpse of Potter scrambling to his feet and running as Sam’s orders rang out.  “Drop your weapon and show us your hands!”

“Put your hands in the air!  Put your hands in the air now!” Jules yelled, inadvertently blocking her boss as he tried to race past and block the subject’s escape.  “Drop your weapon!”

The door clicked shut as Greg reached it; his snarl of fury went unheard as Sam reported, “Spike, he went through the back door!”

“I’m on it,” Spike called as Greg yanked the door open and threw himself through, intent on his prey.

* * * * *

Spike left his equipment behind as he raced out of the room and hustled for the stairs.  They couldn’t let him get away, not after what he’d done to Ed.

* * * * *

Wordy and Lou bolted from their positions, racing past the elevators to cut off one of the subject’s escape routes.  If they could funnel him down the stairs to Spike, it was game over.

* * * * *

Colin took the time to shove the door shut behind him; anything to delay the cops, especially the stocky one with an inhuman rage in his eyes.  Even after Afghanistan and everything he’d seen there, never had Colin seen _anything_ that scared him as much as that cop had in the few seconds they’d locked gazes.  The former journalist nearly fell as he ran from the door, keeping his gun pointed back at it.  As he reached the building’s internal staircase, he swept his gun around, looking for more cops, then threw himself downwards, panic fueling his flight.

* * * * *

Molten fury pumped and Greg kept the lead, ignoring his team’s usual leap-frog strategy as he raced after Ed’s shooter.  Behind him, he heard Sam and Jules scrambling to keep up, but he was too enraged to slow.  Ahead of him, he could hear the subject panting as he fled, down the stairs and into their trap.  Parker let loose a predator’s grin as he rounded the staircase and jogged downwards, finally slowing enough that Jules and Sam could catch up.

* * * * *

Spike raced up the glass staircase, his gun at the ready and satisfaction flowing.  They had him, they _had_ him.  Another few seconds and they’d have Ed’s would-be killer in cuffs and on his way to a lifetime in prison.

* * * * *

Colin threw himself down the steps; no, no, no, this _wasn’t_ happening.  He was supposed to take out Cavelle and make sure Meg was safe, not end up running from a group of cops, at least one of whom was out for _blood_ , preferably _his_.

He leapt down into an area with no concrete walls, only the staircase’s glass between him and open air; his gun was still in his hand, pointed back in an effort to be ready should those cops catch up to him.  Then a shout came from ahead of him; he jerked around to see an angry raven-haired cop aiming a _submachine_ gun at him.  “Drop your weapon!  Do it now!”

Colin backed up, but the three cops from before were right behind him, the demon-eyed cop in the lead; he swore he saw the cop flash _fangs_ at him.  “Get back!” Colin shouted, aiming his gun at them; they drew back, into cover.  “Don’t!  Don’t!  Stay back!”

* * * * *

Wordy and Lou reached a ledge overlooking the inner staircase just as their teammates cornered the subject.  The two ducked down, keeping themselves low so the subject wouldn’t realize they were above him.

“We’ve got vantage and concealment,” Wordy reported, sneaking a look over the railing to watch the tableau below.

* * * * *

“Wordy, Lou, lay low, hold fire,” Sam ordered softly.  “Spike, you’re Sierra.”

“Copy that,” Spike acknowledged.

The quiet exchange of orders gave Parker cover to calm down and attempt to get his gryphon instincts under control yet again.  This close to his prey – no, darn it, the _subject_ – it was…difficult.  _Ha!  Try impossible, Parker._   He leaned his head back, working his jaw and flexing his hands on his gun.  “Wordy, you’re my eyes,” he murmured, fighting with all his might past the desire to rip his prey apart.  Louder, he called, “Hey, Colin.  Hey, Colin, I’m Greg Parker.  I’m with the Police Strategic Response Unit.”

He heard his prey whimpering and felt a surge of satisfaction at the sound.  Even so, he still kept his voice even and calm.  “What do you say we talk, huh?”

“Body language looks like he’s gonna jump,” Wordy reported from above.

Satisfaction vanished as Parker felt a low, rumbling growl in his chest; no, his prey was _not_ going to escape him now, he was not going to get to commit suicide and deny the Sergeant the pleasure of taking him down.

With his gryphon side finally fully onboard, Greg drew in a steadying breath and called, “I know what happened today.  And I know you were trying to…”  For a split second, his mind blanked and he fumbled, “…you were trying to do what you thought you had to do, that, uh…” _Get it together, Parker._   “…that you didn’t think you had another choice, that you were worried about Meg.  Right?”

Ugh.  A first year trainee could’ve negotiated better than that.  Greg’s grimace was unfeigned and he scrambled to mentally regroup, hyper-aware of the ever-so-nosy Toth listening to every word he spoke.

But somehow, it still worked; the subject responded, though Parker felt his hands clench as the subject replied, “I did exactly what I had to do.  I didn’t have a choice.”

The Sergeant looked over at Sam, tilting his head.  The two edged forward, ever so slightly into the open.  “Hey.  Col…”

The prey whipped around, aiming his gun and yelling, “Don’t!”

“Okay!”  Though he seethed, Parker backed off.  “Okay, I’m not coming any closer, buddy.”

As the two reached cover again, Jules pointed out, “Boss, he’s past negotiation.”

“Shot a cop and a soldier-- I don’t think he’s seeing the happy ending here,” Spike put in.

Lou piped up from above, “Told his wife he didn’t care what happens to him anymore; he’s been suicidal for a while.”

“Boss,” Sam hissed, “If we want to stop a suicide, the only way is a double drop.”

“Staging area looks good,” Wordy reported.

Jules finished the pitch.  “We’d have him on the ground before he knew what hit him.”

Protectiveness for the rest of his team surged.  “Double drop ten floors up?” Greg demanded incredulously.  Sure, he wanted his prey, but he didn’t want him _that_ bad.

* * * * *

“What’s your take on that move?” Dr. Toth inquired of the nearby Commander Holleran, both of them listening to Team One’s comm channel.

The commander’s frown was closed and grim.  “I don’t like it,” he replied.

“It’s risky,” Toth allowed, “But it’s in the playbook.”

“Yes,” Holleran agreed, though he didn’t look any happier.

“What would you do?”

The response was swift, rote.  “Judgment call-- it’s never black or white.”

“Yes,” Toth emphasized, impatient with the evasion.  “But what would you do?”

“I wouldn’t risk my team.”

Toth considered that, a new concern surfacing.  Looking away, he murmured, “Unless you had something to prove.”

* * * * *

“Boss, I’m not seeing another option,” Sam remarked, watching his Sergeant with a faint trace of worry.

The gryphon instincts that had only half a minute ago howled for Potter’s blood were now utterly silent, even loather than Greg to do what he was considering.  “So I got to risk my team to save the guy who shot my TL seven times?” Parker couldn’t help but ask.

Jules and Sam looked just as unhappy once their boss had laid it out like that.  “It’s your call, Boss,” Jules murmured.

He couldn’t do it, couldn’t risk his team to save a man like that.  Parker opened his mouth to give the order to pull back, then he heard his prey whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

Glancing over, Greg saw the man by the edge of the stairs, staring straight down; he was talking to his wife, not them.  _“Please, please don’t let them hurt him.”_   Yes, it had been Jules who’d promised, but Jules was part of his team; in a way, _he’d_ promised, too.

How many times had he and his team been on that edge, only to be saved by the unlikely, the improbable, the impossible?  Maybe it was _their_ turn to be someone else’s impossible solution.  And if he walked away now, could he live with his decision?  With a rough swallow, Greg decided.  “Okay, Sam, let’s do it.”

He watched Potter as his team headed back up the stairs.  _This had better work; I can’t lose anyone else…_


	9. No Place I'd Rather Be

Sam and Jules were up top and ready to go as Parker edged into view to distract Potter from his suicide plan.  On the tenth floor overlook, Wordy and Lou kept low, though Wordy had decided, as his teammates were preparing for their jump, to have Lou take over as the Sarge’s eyes ‘in the sky’.  With so much on the line, Wordy wasn’t prepared to endanger the outcome over the remnants of his magic-induced headache, especially not with Lou ready, willing, and able to back him up.

The acting team leader peered over the side, watching as Potter paced back and forth right below him.  “You got to keep him still.”

The fiery inferno of rage inside his boss had finally, _finally_ , burned itself out, giving Team One _their_ Sergeant back, rather than the seething, vengeful stranger they’d spent most of the afternoon and evening with.  “I’m gonna try to keep his focus on me,” Sarge confirmed.

“Just give us the word,” Jules called.

* * * * *

“I love you so much, baby,” the subject whimpered, staring over the edge after successfully forcing Parker away from him once more.

Only steps away, the narrow-eyed cop judged the situation as best he could from around the stairway’s curve.  The calm and control that had eluded him ever since Ed’s shooting was suddenly firmly in Greg’s grasp and the Sergeant took full advantage of the development to run down the facts and give his team a last minute briefing.  “All right, we got one shot at this, guys.  His instincts are primal.  We time this wrong, give him time to react, he’s gonna take you down with him.”

He hated this, hated risking his team for a would-be cop killer, but it was the only way – the only way to bring everyone home alive.  The only way to give Meg Keefler the same kind of miracle he and his team had gotten so many times…

“Sergeant Parker, I can’t let you do this.”

“Excuse me?” Parker demanded incredulously; what in the _world_ was Toth’s problem _now_?

Indignation joined incredulity as Toth snapped, “Your team was a breath away from being disbanded.  You’re risking their lives to prove something to me.”

He should’ve snapped, should’ve gone at Toth the way he’d wanted to ever since Toth started smashing his team apart, throwing their worst moments in their faces, and called it ‘saving lives’.  Called it saving _his_ life.  His gryphon instincts, still humming in the background, should have overridden every scrap of self-control Greg had left in their howl of outrage at Toth’s presumption, driving the stocky man to actions best left untouched.

But none of that happened.  “Are you kidding me?” Greg retorted without skipping a beat, without losing either his calm or his temper.  “This is the job.  This is what we do.”  Rock solid confidence in himself and his teammates rang in every word.  “Nothing changes,” the Sergeant asserted before turning his attention to the only ones whose opinion mattered.  “Team One, anyone wants to stand down, the choice is yours.  Spike?”

Spike’s voice was fierce and sharp.  “Present and on board.”

“Lou?”

“Ready and raring to go, Boss.”

“Wordy?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jules?”

“I’m good.”

“Sam?”

“Nowhere in the world I’d rather be.”

“There’s your answer, Dr. Toth,” Parker rumbled, letting just an edge of his gryphon side forward.

For a beat, silence hung.  Then, with quiet deference, Dr. Toth replied, “Copy that, Sergeant Parker.”

* * * * *

Ed felt a whisper of twined gold and violet trace around his shoulders, passing him by on its way to Sophie.  He kept his eyes locked on his wife’s, even as her eyes slipped closed and her head slumped down against the pillow.  “Sophie, you hang on,” he told her fiercely.  “Hang on.  Sophie, hang on.”

_Don’t take them away from me…_

* * * * *

Jules and Sam traded forearm grips and looks, the two bracing themselves for the jump, trusting in their teammates to provide the rest.  “Standing by in position, Boss,” Jules reported.

* * * * *

“Hey, Colin,” Parker called, watching as best he could from his covered position around the curve.  Even his acute gryphon hearing couldn’t make out much more than gibberish and babbling from the subject.  “I’m having trouble understanding what you’re saying, buddy.  Can you repeat that?”

The Sergeant grimaced when the subject didn’t respond at all, still muttering random words and phrases to himself.  Tilting his head up, he asked, “Lou, what do you see?”

“He’s pacing,” Lou replied, a smidge of frustration in the words.

Parker leaned his head back against the wall.  “We gotta keep him still, Lou.  Jules and Sam, they’re in your hands.”

“Copy.”

* * * * *

Giles Onasi watched as the pieces slid together and Clark’s eyes widened in shock and realization; he stared at the siblings who stood in front of the door to his mother’s room, their hands touching and the faintest glitter of their magic in their eyes as they watched the doctors work.

* * * * *

There was no more time.  “Ready?” Greg breathed.  “Here we go.”  With that he pushed off the wall and moved into the open.  “Colin?”  The subject kept sniffling and whimpering, so Parker waved at him.  “Colin, hey, look at me…look at me, buddy.”  With both hands up, the negotiator pressed, “Are you thinking about Meg?”

Finally, a response.  Almost crying, the subject asked, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s okay,” Parker reassured the man, burying a grimace as Potter paced back, then forward.  “She’s with her friend right now.  You want me to send a message to her, ‘cause she’s safe.”

“But you’re here,” Potter cried, “How is she safe?”

Lou’s voice hissed over the comm.  “Boss has his attention.  Take two steps to your right.”

Now or never; Greg kept his eyes locked on the subject’s, praying the man would keep _holding still_.  “She’s with her friend, buddy.”

* * * * *

“And you said, ‘Eddie…it’s not like there’s gonna be a sign, some kind of sign that everything’s gonna be all right,’ ” Ed whispered, praying, harder than he had in a very long time, that his wife and newborn child would be okay.

“Here we go, she’s a girl,” the doctor called; an alarm promptly went off.  “Oxygen,” the doctor snapped, “Respiratory distress.”

_Please, let everything be all right._

* * * * *

“You have to keep her safe,” Potter begged.

Anything to keep the subject still just a few more seconds.  “I promise, we’ll keep her safe.  What do you want me to tell her?”

* * * * *

Sophie started crying, but Ed kept himself calm and level, even as the doctor announced, “Cyanosis.  I’m gonna have to aspirate.  Let’s get these airways clear.”

“But there was,” Ed said fiercely, clinging to hope and belief, clinging to every last miracle he’d seen in the past three years.  “There was a sign.  Sophie, there was.  You remember?”

It was a breath, barely there, but she replied, “Fireflies.”

“Fireflies.”

* * * * *

“On three, two…” Lou hissed.

“Just tell her good-bye,” the subject sniffled.

“Go, go, go,” Lou ordered.

In one smooth movement, Jules and Sam leapt over the edge.


	10. Probation and Instinct

Violet and gold glittered more brightly in the small room as husband and wife kept their eyes on each other.

“Oxygen stabilizing at 89.  Let’s keep an eye on her.”

* * * * *

Greg saw it; in the last few seconds, Potter looked up and saw the two SRU cops spiraling down towards him, the two locked together as they fell, boots first.  His gun came up, its report loud in the eerie stillness.  Glass shattered above Greg’s teammates, raining down on them and Potter.

Then they hit, slamming Potter down and rolling him on his side for the cuffs.

* * * * *

A baby’s wail rang out, strong and true; both inside and outside the room, the adults slumped in relief while the two younger teens smiled in quiet satisfaction and the oldest teen there gawped in shock and no small amount of awe.

* * * * *

Greg swept in, grabbing the fallen weapon and yanking it with him as he pulled away.  “Gun clear,” he called.

“Up, up!” Jules ordered as she and Sam dragged Ed’s shooter upright.

Parker let his fury and rage glint in his eyes as he glared at the man pinned against the inside of the staircase.  As the cuffs tightened on the subject’s wrists, the Sergeant reported, “6:54 PM.  Subject secure.  Good work, Team One.”

“Team One, subject secure,” Winnie acknowledged.  “Copy that.  Team Three, status?”

Donna’s voice held just a touch of smugness.  “Flawless Team Three takedown in the lobby.  Cavelle is in custody.  Drug Squad is very happy to have their evidence.”

“That’s good work, Donna,” Parker praised.

“Miracle of modern technology,” Donna parried.  “I spotted Cavelle, called him on his cellular, distracted him with my undercover skank voice and we took him down.”

Naturally, Spike couldn’t leave _that_ one alone.  “Can I hear your undercover skank voice?”

“Someday, Spikey, someday,” Donna teased before going back to business.  “Okay, I’ll see you guys back at the barn.”

“Somewhere we gotta be first,” Spike returned, glancing back at his boss as he spoke.

“Be there as soon as I can,” the Sergeant promised, watching his team go.

* * * * *

Healer Wesley arrived a few minutes after the baby was born, sweeping in with a superior look for Auror Onasi; Lance cocked his head at her expression, confused.  Then Auror Onasi smirked and pointed to him; the superior look vanished as the Healer realized she _hadn’t_ been called in for an injured _child_ , but rather, an injured _Auror_.

Lance promptly bestowed his _own_ superior look on the Healer, a glint of devilish glee in his eyes.

* * * * *

Greg stepped inside the briefing room, too drained to feel any more anger at the doctor seated inside.  The silver head came up, Toth peering at him for a second.  “A time like this, and you choose to come here.  Thank you.”

“I don’t like unfinished business,” Greg replied bluntly.

Toth absorbed that, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the desk.  “I appreciate that.”  He looked down, gathering his thoughts, then spoke briskly, “Uh, I’ll be fast.  To be blunt…I still question your objectivity.”  Greg cringed at that, but refused to let it show.  “But the events of the day and your team’s professionalism under intense and extreme personal pressure has not gone unnoticed.  I’m clearing them for duty.”

The Sergeant didn’t relax.  Clearing _them_ for duty…that left him out.  Even so, he offered a quiet, “Thank you,” and waited for the rest.

A tiny smirk touched Toth’s face.  “Conditionally.”

“Conditionally,” Greg echoed calmly.

The other rose from his seat, snapping his words out.  “You’re on probation.  Wordsworth needs a full medical ASAP.  Scarlatti-- decision about his commitment to the team.”  The doctor paused, studying Parker.  “Julianna Callaghan and Sam Braddock-- if their relationship crosses the line again, violating the Priority of Life Code, immediate disciplinary measures and reassignment for them and for you.”

Greg arched a brow; when he’d caught them the last time, he’d taken the appropriate measures, so why target him specifically?

Toth eyed him, understanding the silent question.  “They’re in your command, you’re responsible,” he explained.  “I recognize that you have no way to guarantee their relationship won’t cross the line again, but it’s still your responsibility and your punishment…unless you act before I can in such a situation.  Then, and _only_ then, will they face discipline without you joining them.”

The scowl that wanted to surface stayed buried as Greg waited for Toth to finish.

“I’ll be watching.  Every case file, every transcript will be copied to my office.  You need to draw the line between being a friend to your team and being their Sergeant.”

Ah, now they had a problem.  Greg cleared his throat.  “Dr. Toth, you’re still not cleared under the Official Secrets Act.”

“Then all non-classified transcripts will be copied,” Toth retorted.  “I haven’t changed my mind about _you_ , Sergeant.  You are still dangerously close to breaking _or_ losing control, but it’s obvious to me that I can hardly clear your team and not _you_ , much as I would like to.”

“Understood,” Parker grated out and backed up a step.

“I do have one question.”

The Sergeant paused, examining Toth with his head cocked ever so slightly to the side.

“Who is Dr. Moffet to you, Sergeant?  Your reaction to his name earlier was…quite extreme.”

Greg considered his response carefully.  “Most of the answer is classified, I’m afraid,” he began.  “However,” he added as Toth’s disappointment showed, “I _can_ tell you that Dr. Moffet is suspected of interfering in the investigation of the car accident my nephew had.  He’s specifically suspected of hacking into the database and submitting a report on the behalf of our forensics department; that report led the coroner to issue a death certificate for my nephew even though no body was found in my burned out sedan.”  The Sergeant stopped, watching Toth’s expression.  “And that’s the _least_ of what we suspect him of doing,” Greg finished.

* * * * *

Clark pushed his father’s wheelchair up to his father’s teammates, a grin on his face.  The group swarmed his father and his new baby sister, excited by both the little girl and the sight of his father upright and talking.  The lady who’d shown up right after his sister was born hovered, giving the group one last moment before taking his father off to be treated.

The teenager wasn’t sure what he thought of everything he’d learned and figured out, wasn’t sure what to think of the fact that he still only knew what his uncle’s partner called the basics, but he wasn’t mad at Lance any more.  He reserved the _right_ to get angry again once he got more details, but for now, he wasn’t bristling and upset any more.  Clark looked up as his father’s boss arrived, leaning over and admiring the new baby.

Then the lady doctor, healer, whatever, moved forward, quietly telling the group, “Okay.  It’s time to go.”

“Okay,” Clark’s father agreed.  He looked up at Clark, pain and pride in his eyes.  “Okay, buddy, come here.”  As Clark leaned over, slipping his arms under his sister, his father coached, “Grab her head.”

“Okay,” Clark replied, starting to straighten.

“Come here,” his father said, pulling him down and hugging him fiercely.  “Gonna be okay.”

Clark straightened as his father was taken away, gazing down at his sister in awe.  Sister; he had a sister.  He was aware of the adults gathering around him, but his eyes stayed on the little bundle as she opened her eyes and looked up at her big brother.

* * * * *

Wordy walked into his bedroom, dead tired after his very long, no good day.  Shelley looked up from her spot on top of the covers.  “How is he?”

“The delay in treatment means they had to give him some nasty potion to regrow the nerves in his arm, but he’ll be fine in the morning.  Just,” Wordy grimaced, “Really, really unhappy; he was swearing up a blue streak when we left.”

Shelley’s eyes widened, then she giggled at the look on her husband’s face.  After a moment, Wordy laughed too, and the pair laughed until they were breathless.  Shelley tugged Wordy down on the bed, asking, “Are you okay with this probation thing?”

“Yeah, it just…means we have to be perfect.”  Wordy turned away from Shelley as he spoke, ostensibly reaching down to untie his shoes.

“How hard could that be?” Shelley teased, her face falling when Wordy failed to laugh.  “What?”  Hugging him from behind, she pressed, “Kev…what?”

“It could be hard,” he admitted softly, an ache in his voice; he stilled his motions, thinking hard as he glanced at his right hand.  “Shel…  There’s something I have to tell you.”

* * * * *

Lou trailed after Spike, making sure Spike knew where he was and even bumping Spike’s shoulder as the pair entered the Scarlatti residence.  Spike’s grim demeanor lightened as Lou shoved him again and he shoved back with a playful scowl.  “Knock it off, Lou.”

“Make me, Scarlatti.”

The playfulness faded as a hacking cough came from farther in the house.  Spike’s head came around and his shoulders slumped, his hands slipping into his pockets.  Lewis moved up beside his friend, standing so close that if Spike had backed up, he would have smacked into Lou’s shoulder.

From the far hallway, Spike’s mother appeared, wrung out and exhausted.  When she saw her son, she hurried to him, ignoring Lou’s presence.  “What am I gonna do?” she questioned, gazing up at Spike’s face.

Spike reached out to his mother, finding the strength to bolster both of their flagging spirits.  “It’s okay.”

“You need to give him peace,” she said firmly; over Spike’s shoulder, Lou’s expression turned incredulous that she would press Spike to quit his job _right in front of his teammate_.

The bomb tech shook his head, just as firm in his own position.

“Please?” Mrs. Scarlatti pleaded.  “Michelangelo, tell him you’ll do it.”

“I can’t.”

“Just for a while; he doesn’t have long,” Mrs. Scarlatti wheedled.

Spike drew in a breath.  “You can’t just walk away and then walk back when you want.”  Lou nodded agreement with his friend.  “This is my life.”

Mrs. Scarlatti stared at her son as if she’d never seen him before.  “It’s a job.”

“Ma!”

Lewis Young felt bad for her; yes, it was a job, but if she couldn’t see the family her son had gained…that _all_ of them had gained…he really couldn’t feel anything but pity.

* * * * *

In a relatively small apartment, the two men of the family sat in the living room, looking at each other.  The younger waited patiently, a knowing gleam in his sapphire eyes.  It took close to an hour, but the elder finally spoke.  “I can’t do this, _mio nipote_.  I can’t do my job if I have to fight _myself_ every step of the way.”

“What happened?” Lance questioned, leaning forward.  “What changed today?”

Greg raked his hands over his head and through what was left of his hair.  “I don’t know.  I’ve been wracking my brains and I can’t figure out what happened.  I just know it did.”  He looked down at the ground.  “It…it must’ve been when Eddie got shot.”

“Wrong.”

Greg’s head snapped up.  “What?”

His nephew’s eyes glittered and then he growled, low in his chest.  Greg’s eyes widened as an automatic response growl came from his own chest.  Inside, the brand-new instincts he’d been fighting against surged, upset at the young _upstart’s_ challenge.  Hazel eyes narrowed as the growl rumbled louder, then Lance tilted his head to the side, exposing his throat with a soft conciliatory whine.  Just like that, the instincts receded, satisfied that there was no further challenge from the young man.  Greg was left shaken at how _easily_ his nephew had goaded and manipulated his instinctual responses; he stared at Lance, silently demanding answers.

“Did you think it was _just_ hearing, vision, and that sixth sense of yours?” Lance asked, cocking his head further to the side.  “No, Uncle Greg, it’s _always_ been more than that, but the instincts took this long to manifest because, despite everything else, you’re still Squib-born.”

“I didn’t have enough magic,” Greg breathed.  “So what changed?”

“You got used to what you already had, more efficient at using the traits that came out first,” Lance explained quietly.  The teen propped his chin on his hands.  “You’ll get used to this stuff too, I promise.  Today was really bad because its new and you’re not used to dealing with animal instincts, plus,” the teen flashed a sardonic grin, “We gryphons really don’t like it when ‘one of our own’ gets hurt.”

“That, _mio nipote_ , is a severe understatement,” Greg grumbled.  “So I just have to wait it out and…” he hesitated, “…get used to it?”

“I can teach you a few tricks I use,” Lance offered.  “But, yeah, for the most part, you have to wait it out.”

“Any _future_ surprises?”  _Like say,_ actually _transforming?_

Lance considered that.  “Maybe.  I don’t know any way of finding out, sorry.”  Shrewd blue eyes regarded the nervous Sergeant, catching his unspoken worry.  “I don’t think you have enough magic to actually shift, though.  Eyes, teeth, _maybe_ claws, that’s about it.”

“Wonderful,” Greg drawled sarcastically.

Sapphire dropped away and Greg cringed; his nephew was still hurting, still far quick to accept the blame for things that went wrong.

Greg got up from his chair and dropped down next to his nephew, one arm going around his _nipote’s_ shoulders and pulling him close.  “Hey, listen, I’m not mad at you.  I got myself into this mess, remember?”  He shook the teen’s shoulders.  “You’re gonna help me figure this out and we’ll figure out how to help you and your sister magic-side, okay?”

Lance nodded, but didn’t look up.

“Okay, _mio nipote_ , first things first.  We’re going to go to bed and tackle this in the morning, and when we do, I got one more thing for you to think about.”

The brown head came up and cocked to the side.

“We need a Healer who’s got a tech-side medical degree.  Sooner the better.”

It took a moment, but the slim shoulders straightened to the task.  “Copy that, Uncle Greg.”

 

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I figure a couple people might be wondering why I downplayed Sam and Jules' relationship big time in this story and even skipped several of their scenes from Personal Effects.
> 
> First off, I'm not going to go against canon, which means, yes, there is JAM and it will stay, regardless of anything else. I suppose I could be considered a bit anti-JAM, but I do have my reasons. Though we all hate Dr. Toth for attacking _our_ favorite team, he, to be perfectly blunt, is right. Sam and Jules _are_ in defiance of SRU policy and they _are_ putting their teammates at risk.
> 
> Truth be told, I was never very impressed that they were never punished for their actions. Not to mention, they restarted their relationship _right_ after they were called on the carpet by Toth with no care or regard for the fact that, if they were _caught_ , it wasn't just _them_ on the hook – it was their Sergeant, too. Now, I doubt Parker told his team about Toth's ultimatum, but neither Sam nor Jules can plead ignorance in my book: they _had_ to have known Parker would be faulted just as much as, if not _more_ than, them.
> 
> That's all I intend to say on the subject, but I'm sure my opinion will come through loud and clear in my stories. I know many _Flashpoint_ fans are ardent JAM lovers, but I hope ya'll can deal with my somewhat dissenting view in favor of (I think) a good story/series.
> 
> On a happier note, we are officially in Season Four territory. And following closely on the heels of this story, "Researching the Solution" will kick off January 22nd, 2019.
> 
> See you on the battlefield! (Sorry, the _Zoids: Chaotic Century_ fan in me just had to peek out.)


End file.
